Fireflies
by tider58
Summary: Spike and Buffy and Dawn, from fluff to nonfluff and back for a fluffy conclusion. Now complete, with an epilogue. Reviews would be lovely.
1. Chapter 1

She had almost reached the front door when her sister's voice rang out from the kitchen, stopping her in her tracks.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Rolling her eyes and steeling herself for a fight, Dawn called back in the most cheerful, cooperative tone she could muster, "To Janice's, Buffy. I told you."

"Um, no you didn't. And you're not going anywhere until you've done your homework." Buffy came into the living room, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"I'm going to Janice's _to_ _do_ my homework."

Buffy snorted. "I look stupid to you?"

"You want me to answer that?"

"Dawn. Don't make this into a knock-down drag-out. You know I'll win. Just go upstairs, do your homework, pretend for once that we're a nice happy family."

"Buffy, come on. You told me I could go to Janice's, I told her I was coming over, and I'm not going to flake on her just because you were too busy thinking about riding your vampire to remember giving me permission."

"Riding my—Dawn!"

"She's right, you know," Spike said, giving Dawn a casual wink as he appeared in the doorway behind Buffy and placed his hands on her waist.

She shook him off irritably. "Not now, Spike. Dawn, this is not a debatable topic. Get upstairs and do your homework You can hang with Janice tomorrow, not on a school night."

Dawn glared at her sister with the heat of a thousand suns. "Don't pretend you're in charge around here just because you chose to remember that I exist this week." She reached down to grab the backpack that had fallen at her feet and turned her back on her sister and her former best friend. "I'll be at Janice's." She pulled the door open and flinched when it slammed in her face before she could set one foot outside. She spun around to see Spike towering above her, smelling of smoke and leather and familiarity (how many times had she cried in those arms, while Buffy was gone, and relished the scent that was so uniquely Spike), bracing himself with his hand resting on the door over her head.

"Skip the tantrum, Little Bit. You heard your sister," he said, and his blue eyes were soft as always when he looked at her but brooked no argument.

"But…so what, Spike, you're going to take her side all the time now?" Dawn couldn't keep the hurt, betrayed note out of her voice. "Just because she decided life sucks so much she can actually give you the time of day and not hate herself for it in the morning? You're going to choose this version of Buffy who's not much realer than the Bot over me?"

Spike shot a glance Buffy's way, then fixed his gaze on Dawn again. He tried to make his expression gentle even though her words were pushing him to the end of his patience, knowing full well that dealing with this one when she was in a state was tricky, volatile business, like defusing a bomb. If Buffy hadn't been there he might have taken a stronger approach, but he thought she didn't need to witness a fight between her little sis and her … whatever he was to her. "Dawn, listen to me, and stop being so very fifteen. I'm taking her side because she's in charge around here, and you need to start getting used to that arrangement. It'll be easier for everyone if you do."

"I don't have to do what she says."

Done with gentle, Spike's eyes hardened, and he took Dawn by the arm and began steering her toward the stairs. "Then you'll do as _I_ say. Get your scrawny ass upstairs and do your homework. No funny business; I could hear your window opening from a mile away, if I was listening for it. And believe me, I'll be listening."

Dawn glared at her friend with tears shimmering in her eyes. "You never cared about me, did you? It was always about her. Now that she's back, you have no use for me anymore. I see how it works. I hate you. Both of you." With that, she flounced up the stairs in a fan of long, shiny brown hair; moments later, her bedroom door slammed so hard the windows rattled in their frames.

"She's got you beat in the ability to piss me off department, you know that? And that's no mean feat," Spike said dryly. "You're damn lucky I didn't just kill her while you were gone, as much teenage drama as I had to put up with. Protected her every second, I did; let her talk to me about sodding boys, didn't track down the ones she mentioned by name and rip their arms off. Could've, you know. And what thanks do I get? Bitchy looks and slamming doors. No respect. Kids today…"

"Spike?"

He stopped muttering and cocked an eyebrow at Buffy. She was smiling, a tight, thin-lipped smile, but a smile nonetheless. His heart melted a little at the sight. "What?"

"Parenthood agrees with you."

"Par—oh, bloody hell, Slayer, that's not funny! I'm as big and bad as ever, or didn't you notice? Just because I have a bit of a … weakness … for girls with the last name Summers doesn't mean for one second that I the word 'parent' belongs in the same vicinity. Just stop that."

Buffy came over and wrapped her arms around him, tilting her head back to look up into his face. "I think it's sweet, how much you care about my sister."

"S'not going to stop me from snapping her neck next time she gets all sassy, mark my words."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Big Bad. Truth is, that girl has you wrapped around her infuriating little finger, and you know it. She knows it too, though, so don't let her play you."

"You aren't bothered by the things she says? She digs deep, that one."

"She does. And it hurts, especially the true parts. But I guess she's entitled to some resentment. She'll get over it. The other day when we were actually getting along for a minute, she told me she's happy we're together … but she wanted to make sure I wasn't using you. I actually think she asked me what my intentions are." Buffy bit the corner of her lip against another smile. "Sweet, huh?"

Spike tried and failed to scowl darkly. "God, I've hit a new low when a little girl thinks she can protect me from heartbreak. My demon perishes the thought."

Buffy strained on her tiptoes to kiss him; he returned the gesture emphatically, and his hand slipped up under her shirt and began to explore … and suddenly she caught his wrist and pulled away. "Not now," she chided. "I've got to go talk to her. Maybe I did tell her she could go to Janice's. I really don't remember, and that 'riding my vampire' thing? Not altogether wrong."

"Can't change the rules now, Buffy. You've got to be firm, consistent. Don't let her think she's winning."

"Is that how you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Come on, Spike. You've got a way of making her do what you tell her to do. She argues, she spits fire, but she does it in the end. It's impressive."

"Don't ask me questions like I'm bloody Dr. Phil. I don't know why she listens; I guess she knows I could tear her to pieces if I'd a mind to."

"She knows you'd sooner tear yourself to pieces."

"Let's talk about something else, yeah? This is doing nothing for my image. I just want to—" Spike suddenly broke off and cocked his head, listening. "I'll be right back. Time to call her bluff." He took the stairs in long strides, three at a time, and opened Dawn's door without knocking. She was sitting by the open window, backpack in hand, but she didn't look surprised to see him there, which confirmed his suspicion that she'd just been testing him.

"Going somewhere, Bit?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Not anymore." She gave him a fleeting glance through wisps of her long hair and then looked at the floor. "Shouldn't you be downstairs ravaging my sister now that you got the pest out of the picture?"

Spike restrained a full-body eyeroll as he perched on the foot of her bed and regarded this damaged child who was fast growing into a damaged young woman. "Remember the fireflies?" he asked.

Dawn nodded. As if she could ever forget. Buffy was newly dead, and the rest of them were as good as. It was unbearable to witness the sickening speed of their collective unraveling, as if Buffy had been the seam. She'd found him in the cemetery, curled in a broken, black-leather-clad ball in a dark corner next to a giant headstone, taking huge gasping swigs from a near-empty bottle of something harsh. He'd looked up when her moon-shadow fell over him, bleary-eyed and radiating an unspeakable pain. Neither said a word. She sat down next to him, so close their shoulders were touching, and she breathed deeply of the comforting Spike-scent that would fast become her touchstone. They shared their agony, their silence, and Spike's liquor. Time grew ephemeral, impossible to measure, above all, insignificant. And then the fireflies. Swarms of them, appearing with such suddenness that they could have been swept into this world from a portal to a dimension where all was compsed of flickering little beads of light. The fireflies came and the stillness lifted. Dawn lay her head on Spike's shoulder, he drew her against him and whispered words he'd never acknowledge later, words of comfort, and promise, and love, and regret. The fireflies came and the griefspell was broken.

"We're linked, you and me," he said now, eyeing the girl as she concentrated on counting individual carpet fibers. "And you still question my devotion."

"It's hard not to. I'm always getting pushed aside. I've hardly seen you since she came back."

"We're building something, Niblet. It's shaky business. I'm trying to get a good hold on her before I give her time and space to think it to death. She will if we let her, you know that." When Dawn didn't answer, he went on. "It doesn't mean anything's changed between us. You're mine; you'll always be mine. If things work out the way I hope they will, that will be even more certain. We've got a chance here, Bit; don't you want to see it happen?"

"I want you and Buffy to be together. I don't want to be a third wheel for the rest of my life."

"Never. You know better. We'll be a family if I have my say. And either way, you're stuck with me. I'm sworn to you till the end of everything. Got it?"

Dawn considered at length, and at last a flicker of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Are you going to go to PTA meetings and stuff?"

"Bite your tongue."

"And, oh, God, if you and Buffy end up together, does that mean you're going to butt into my love life forever?"

"What love life? You're not dating till you're thirty, regardless of Buffy's and my relationship status."

"Because there's this guy in my science class who's been talking to me. He's a senior, and so cute! I think he might ask me to Prom."

Spike buried his face in his hands. "Kill me."

"You're already dead."

"Stake me, then."

Dawn finally let a grin break through. "Only if you keep treating me like a speed bump on the road to eternal bliss with Buffy."

"If the shoe fits," Spike said, standing up and drawing her to him for a hug. "And I might consider letting you go on a chaperoned outing with a boy who meets my approval and holds up under my extensive battery of tests … but only if you will cut Big Sis some slack and stop being such a miserable wench whenever she tries to exercise her authority. Deal?"

Dawn looked up at him with an expression of pure horror. "Spike. If any guy has to meet you before I can go out with him? I swear, I'm going to become a nun."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "That a threat? I like that plan. Just have to hide the crucifixes when I come to visit." He turned to go back downstairs.

"Love you, Spike."

He froze for a second, then fixed her with a look that aimed for stern but fell far short. "Do your homework, Bit."


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews. This was going to be a one-parter, but I realized that I enjoy writing fluff and had some spare time on my hands. To answer the question, this story is definitely not Spawn. Dawn and Spike have an interesting friendship dynamic that I like to explore and wish had been addressed more (and not dropped altogether) on the show. But couplewise, it's Spike and Buffy all the way. Thanks again for reading, reviewing, and making me smile. I was having a crappy day.

xXxXx

"Oh _shit!_"

"What? Dawn, what's wrong? You look sick."

She drained the cup of hunch punch in front of her and quickly turned her back toward the door in the faint hope that he wouldn't see her. She forgot, sometimes, that hiding from a vampire is just about impossible. They can smell you, which is gross, but true. And running, also tempting, but out of the question—because they're pretty damn fast.

"Hide me," Dawn said through clenched teeth. Janice shot her a puzzled look and then turned to scan the crowd. Suddenly, understanding dawned in her eyes.

"Ohhh," she breathed. "Is that…?"

"Yes. He's going to kill me. I swear, he really is going to rip my bloody head off this time."

"Want me to distract him?"

"Won't help," Dawn said. "Is there a back door in this place?"

"I don't know, let's try the kitchen."

The teenagers began weaving their way through the crowded room, heading for the door at the far end, through which they stood a slight chance of escaping undetected. They were almost home free, pushing people out of the way, when someone grabbed Dawn's arm. She let out a sharp squeal and turned to see Michael standing there in all his gorgeousness. Michael…_why_ did it have to be Michael?

"Hey, Dawn," he said, and he was flashing her that smile that made her weak in the knees and queasy and hot and sweaty all at the same time. But in a good way. "I didn't know you were here."

"I'm not," she said apologetically, tossing a paranoid glance over her shoulder. "I mean, I am, but I'm on my way out. Like, _now_."

"Oh." Disappointment flashed in his crystal-green eyes, and Dawn silently cursed Spike for being hot on their heels. "You're not headed home already, are you? I mean, I've kind of had enough of this party. I was going check out who's playing at the Bronze. Todd's coming; his brother's roommate is working the bar tonight, so he can hook us up. You guys in?" He glanced at Janice in invitation.

The alcohol had gone straight to Dawn's head. She felt loopy. No sign of Spike yet, but he was sure to be tracking them. "Yes!" she blurted out overenthusiastically. "We'll wait for you outside, okay?"

Michael smiled. "Sure, I'll go get Todd."

Dawn grabbed Janice's hand and pulled her toward the back door. The night air was cold and intoxicating—which, she realized, she probably was, too. But that was okay; she felt free, and more than a little wild.

"Dawn, have you lost your mind?" Janice asked, but she was smiling. "You know you're about to get busted by your vampire bodyguard, or whatever the hell he is. What are we doing?"

"Having fun," Dawn said, shrugging. "I've earned some of that. And I'm in pretty deep shit either way; we might as well enjoy ourselves while we're postponing the inevitable. Besides—_Todd,_ Jan. Tell me you don't want to go."

Janice nodded. "You've got me there, Summers."

"They'd better hurry, though. We're on seriously borrowed time."

A minute later, Michael came back out with his tall, blond, equally tasty friend. "Hey, Dawn? Some guy's inside looking for you," Todd said. "He seems kinda pissed."

Janice and Dawn exchanged looks. "Anyone feel like _running_ to the Bronze?" Dawn muttered under her breath. Aloud, she said, "Let's hurry; it's freezing."

xXxXx

The Bit's little disappearing acts were getting old, and he had long since lost patience with her antics. It was one thing to sneak out now and again for a harmless adolescent lark; quite another to do it knowing full well that there was a big bad on the loose with a taste for children just her size and shape; and quite _another_ when the whole mess led to a fight between him and Buffy. Now _that_ was the part that really enraged him, and the reason he was currently tracking the Bit by scent through the streets of Sunnydale while envisioning all manner of torment he would inflict when he got his hands on her.

Memories of the fight resurfaced, boiling the already-scorching blood in his veins. They had been lying in bed, spent for the moment, Buffy working to catch her breath and Spike basking in her scent, the softness of her bare flesh, the warmth she radiated in dizzying counterpoint to his essential cool.

"Think Dawnie heard anything?" Buffy'd asked softly, her lips tickling the skin of his chest as she spoke against him. "I tried to be quiet that time."

"Doubt it, since she's not here. Then again, I _could_ make you scream so loud the neighbors would hear … if you'd like me to tr—"

"What do you _mean_ she's not here?" Buffy demanded, raising up on her elbows to look at him in alarm. "You heard her leave?"

Spike raised an eyebrow at her sudden change in demeanor. "Yeah, 'bout an hour ago."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I was kind of busy, Slayer!" he said defensively. "Besides, you told her she could sleep over at Michelle's tonight."

Buffy eyed him for a moment, then balled her fist up and pounded it sharply against his chest. "Damn it!"

"Ow! And _what_?"

"She told you that and you bought it? Geez, Spike, you've been alive for a hundred years; I thought you were a little quicker on the uptake. And Dawn? Not exactly known for her honesty lately. Why didn't you check with me?"

"I didn't think much of it. Does it matter?"

"Yes!" Buffy's voice rose steadily as she climbed out of bed and began snatching up garments from the haphazard pile on the floor. "It matters that my little sister is out there God knows where doing God knows what when there's a monster on the streets about whom the only thing we know for sure is that he has a hankering for teenage girls. It matters that _you_ heard her leave and didn't bother to mention it even though you know damn well that Dawn's been out of control and that I wouldn't let her go _anywhere_ by herself at night until we kill this thing—even across the street to Michelle's—who, by the way, she's not even _friends_ with anymore!"

"Are you done?" Spike shot out when she paused to take a breath and pull a sweater on over her head.

"Probably not. But it'll keep. Right now you need to get your naked ass out of that bed, get dressed, and help me find her!"

And so here he was. Buffy had split off from him when they'd left the house on the search and rescue (which, in Spike's mind, was becoming more of a search and destroy with each passing minute). The Slayer was still fuming. Which in turn enraged him. And what was worse, for the first time in their long and checkered history, he didn't think he could fight with her. She was too newly back, too newly _his,_ and he knew he would take her rage and her misplaced blame and her careless insults and actually be grateful, deep down, that she was here to deliver them. But he could—and _would_—fight with the little one. If the monster didn't find her first. At that, a surge of unbidden fear for the bloody stupid girl cut through his anger, swallowing it, and he picked up his pace. _Where the hell are you, Niblet?_

xXxXx

The little group reached the Bronze without incident, although Dawn kept glancing back over her shoulder to make sure no bleach-blond vampires were on their trail. How they had thus far stayed ahead of him was a mystery, but one she didn't care to solve. Once inside the crowded club, Todd took Janice and went to wheedle drinks out of his brother's roommate, and Dawn grabbed Michael's hand and pulled him toward a table nestled in the shadows under the stairs. "Privacy," she explained.

"So, who was that guy?" Michael asked, leaning in close so Dawn could hear over the music and bar noise.

Dawn gave him her innocent face. "What guy?"

"The one back at Jenkins' place … tall blond guy, black leather, looked about ready to beat the shit out of anyone who looked at him funny."

"Oh, him," she said, shrugging casually. "No one … just a friend."

"Friend, huh? Getting mysterious on me, Summers?" he said teasingly, but Dawn could tell he was forming his own _oh-so-wrong_ conclusions about her and Spike.

Laden with drinks, Todd and Janice joined them and sat down across the table. Dawn took one of the proffered glasses and started gulping the sweet, acrid liquid. It burned going down, and she didn't really care what was in it.

"Janice, you know who that guy was, don't you? Dawn's not talking," Michael said, stretching out an arm and resting it around Dawn's shoulders. She felt heat rise up from her stomach at the touch and blushed with pleasure.

Stalling, Janice took a sip from her own drink and looked at Dawn for direction. Dawn shot her a warning glance that only a best girlfriend could read. "Oh, him?" Janice said, and then smirked devilishly. "Just Dawnie's ex. He can't seem to get it through his head that it's over, so he keeps following her around and trying to make her give him a second chance."

Dawn tried to convey "You are _so_ dead" with a subtle kick to Janice's shin, but missed, connecting with the metal table support instead.

Michael raised an eyebrow at Dawn. "I see," he said, amused. "So that's why you were so ready to haul ass out of there."

Dawn laughed nervously, still trying to catch Janice's eye and give her a "thanks a _lot_" look. "Yeah, something like that."

As the time passed and the drinks flowed, Dawn became increasingly convinced that by some act of cosmic mercy, they had actually managed to shake Spike off their trail. And when Michael leaned in and kissed her, her stomach swooped thrillingly and all lingering concern over whether or not she was going to get caught and painfully murdered vanished from her drunken mind. Those thoughts were quite satisfyingly replaced with _Oh my God, his hand is on my thigh, should I put mine on his, am I doing this right, he tastes like spearmint!_

She didn't see him come in even though her line of sight over Michael's shoulder—had she retained the presence of mind to open her eyes and look—incorporated the door. He was just _there_, suddenly, all ice-blue eyes and black leather, anger coming off him in waves that Dawn could actually feel. Startled but still reluctant to pull away from Michael, she broke the kiss and opened her mouth to let the excuses roll, but Spike grabbed her arm in a grip so tight it would even impress Buffy, and Dawn's words were lost in an inarticulate cry of indignation as he pulled her to her feet.

The vampire's gaze trapped Michael, boring into him. Michael stared back and forth between Dawn and this new arrival, struck speechless. Spike bent down to eye level with him and said in a tone that could have sliced through flesh, "Who the hell are you?"

"I-I think I'm the one who should be asking _you_ that," Michael said in courageous and undeniably foolish defiance. "Dawn, what's—"

"Don't talk to her," Spike cut in. "I've a mind to pull your bloody lips off, make sure they don't get anywhere near this girl again."

Mortified, Dawn shoved at Spike ineffectually. "_Stop it_," she commanded in what she meant to be a deadly tone, but which came out just this side of whiny. "It's all right, Michael. He's crazy," she explained pointedly, still struggling to remove her arm from the vise Spike held it in.

"Hey, let go of her," Michael said, his commanding tone belying the fear that shone in his eyes. Across from him, Todd stood up, ready to help his friend out in the increasing likelihood that the scene turned violent.

"Yeah, man, hands off the lady," Todd offered, his courage bolstered by the abundance of alcohol flowing through his system. As Spike's steely glare slid off him, though, he raised both hands in surrender. "Or, you know, whatever. We don't want any trouble."

"Spike, dammit!" Dawn protested hotly. "Come on, let's just go. Michael, it's okay, I'm fine."

"Don't count on it," Spike growled.

Michael looked at Dawn, uncertainty clouding his eyes. "Are you sure…"

"Don't worry," she said, trying to reassure him with a smile that felt plastic in the throes of this utter humiliation. Yanking roughly at the back of Spike's duster with her free arm, Dawn hissed through gritted teeth, "_Let's go_."

He shot one last fierce glare at Michael before turning and sweeping out of the bar behind his charge. "You have any idea how dead you are, little girl?" he asked once they were out in the chilly night.

"Not as dead as you are," she shot back acidly. "Hello, _vampire_?"

"I could beat your lying ass for this, Little Bit. Your sister is out for _my_ blood, you know that? Yeah, thanks to you. Well what do you know; you're busted in spite of your ingenuity. And I'm not feeling nearly so merciful this time, what with you screwing me over the way you did. Wh—where the hell do you think you're going? House is this way. I'm not done with you yet—_oi!_"

Dawn ignored him and kept walking in the opposite direction. When she felt his hand on her elbow, she spun around so hard and suddenly that it actually surprised him. Burning tears of anger and humiliation filled her eyes, and she didn't trust herself to speak, so she settled for a "back off" gesture.

Finally at the end of his rope, Spike had to firmly remind himself not to smack her. "Dawn, stop it, now, and come with me. Buffy's worried sick."

Dawn rolled her eyes exasperatingly and huffed, "Why?"

"Because it's dangerous for you to be out here by yourself with—" Spike broke off, head tilted and eyes fixed on something in the shadows, out of Dawn's line of sight.

"What?" Dawn said, alarmed by his wary expression. She turned to follow his gaze, but saw nothing. "Spike, what?"

"…with things like that out to get you," he finished in a barely audible murmur.

From the shadows, it lunged at Dawn.

xXxXx

To be continued, now that I've decided to keep it going. Please let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

Dawn's teeth cracked together painfully as she was slammed from two different directions at once and went flying through the air. When she landed with an agonizing crash, hitting her head hard against a metal garbage can someone had set out at the curb, her vision blurred and began to go gray around the edges. The sounds of some horrific scuffle reached her ears as if from a great distance, echoing, nightmarish, but not real. Squinting through the darkness and her mental haze, Dawn glimpsed an impossible tangle of images: white-blond hair, sprays of crimson liquid slinging against the star-sprinkled sky like paint, shiny fangs, ragged, ripping claws, terrible red eyes, a large hulking figure with death on its breath, and oh God, Spike, Spike, _Spike!_

She struggled to stand up, fighting the urge to close her eyes and let the gray overcome her. "Spike!" she called out weakly.

"Get away, Bit! Run!"

Snarling, gashing, pummeling … he could hold his own in a fight, there was no question. But what Dawn could make out of this monster in the dark sent violent chills up her spine and filled her with a wild panic. Clinging stubbornly to consciousness as it danced tauntingly away from her, Dawn whipped her head around, frantically searching for something she could use as a weapon. Buffy would have no problem there; she could kill a demon fifty yards out with a pebble, but Dawn didn't have the Slayer's resources to draw on. Something wet and cold hit her arm, and she realized with sick horror that it was blood, and that Spike was losing this battle. Funny, she'd never thought he had it in him to lose. Never thought he could. Secretly she harbored the belief that not even Buffy could take Spike down. But that was a child's blind trust, and there was no time to ponder the ramifications of fallen idols.

The trash can lay on its side at her feet, deeply dented now from her skull's impact. She picked it up and raised it over her head and approached the blood-soaked confusion of demon on demon, and neither paid her any mind because they were too busy trying to end it, to end each other. Her heart pounded sickly in her ears as she waited for a clear shot; God help them both if she hit Spike by mistake.

_CLANG!_

She brought the can down with all the strength she could manage and then some, hitting the monster square on the back of the head and losing her balance as she did so, swaying on her feet and then falling to her knees. Time froze as the thing slowly, slowly turned beady, murderous red eyes on her; its pustule-mottled, snoutlike mouth twisting in what looked oddly like a very human expression of angry surprise. Dawn didn't breathe; the thing towered over her and seemed infintely steady on its cloven feet, and she had failed and now they would both die … As it reached for her with a misshapen, talon-tipped hand, Dawn squeezed her eyes shut and waited—and then Spike's fist shot out of nowhere and with a nauseating _squelch_ punched all the way through the monster's chest to the other side.

The thing let out an inhuman moan of pain and rage as it died and sank backward. It was going to fall on her, ew, the huge dying demon thing with the hole in its chest was going to fall on her and she couldn't move fast enough, but then Spike's hand caught her arm and yanked her up and away, and the disgusting creature landed with an earth-shaking crash right at her feet.

The vampire and the girl stood there silently for a few long moments, staring at the gory pile of demon on the ground that had nearly killed them both. Dawn finally tore her gaze away from it. She opened her mouth to make some half-hearted smart-ass comment for bravado's sake, but all that came out was a choked sob. Expressionless, his eyes not shifting from the demon corpse, Spike held his arm out to her. The teenager gratefully accepted the silent invitation and moved into his one-armed embrace, hiding her face in his chest as tears of relief began to flow. They stood that way until her sobs dwindled to the occasional sniffle.

"Better?" he asked. When she nodded against him, he said, "Let's get you home, then." They moved as one away from the blood-spattered pavement and started down the street toward the Summers' house. Dawn finally regained enough composure to remember Spike's injuries. She looked up at him and gasped at what she could see in the dim light cast from the streetlamps.

"Spike, your face!" She stopped walking and tugged at his arm to make him stop too. "All this blood; where's it coming from?" She looked him over worriedly, not seeing the source of the blood that was covering them both.

He made a dismissive noise and kept walking. "No matter," he said. "Flesh and blood; it'll heal." Stopping short, he turned toward her, anxiety clouding his eyes. "What about you? Are you hurt? Let me see you." He pulled her over to a pool of light from the closest streetlamp and eyed her cuts and scratches critically. She hoped he wouldn't notice the huge lump forming on the back of her head that felt strangely sticky, which probably meant it was bleeding.

"I'm fine, Spike. It's you who looks like you went through a meat grinder."

"Let it go, I said," he snapped, jerking his head for her to follow as he resumed walking. Without warning, he seemed to remember that he was angry, and he began to chew her out, characteristically working himself up more and more as he spoke until by the end he was just a few decibels shy of yelling. "Anyway, what the hell were you thinking about, you foolish little bint, trying to play the hero? Did you hear me tell you to run? I say run, you damn well better _run_! You _don't_ grab the closest trash bin and try to make believe you're a match for a monster like that just because you're the Slayer's baby sister, you understand me? You could have been killed. I should have _let_ the damn thing have you, you're so thick-headed."

Stung by the unexpected tongue-lashing, Dawn slipped easily back into her trademark huffy mode. "Well you're _welcome_ for saving your ass! Geez, next time I won't bother." She picked up her pace so that she was directly in front of him.

"_GOOD!_" Spike roared, making her flinch. "I didn't _need_ your bloody help, I needed you to get the hell out of there like I told you to do so that I could fight without glancing 'round every few seconds to make sure you were all right. You're a liability, Niblet."

"You're an ass, Spike."

"Yeah? Tell me something I don't know."

"I was trying to help."

"Well help you did, didn't you. Nearly helped us both into the grave."

Dawn slowed her pace a little. "I—I've never seen you struggle in a fight like that," she said, trying to keep the tough, irritable edge to her voice intact but helpless to stop the emotion from seeping through. "The blood … I thought …"

Something in her tone melted his anger a bit, and he reached for her hand and pulled her to a stop beside him. "I'm immortal, love," he said softly. "Takes more than a flesh wound to do me in, you know that."

Dawn met his eyes and he saw that hers were shimmering with unshed tears. When she spoke, her voice was thin, high-pitched and trembling. "Knowing that doesn't help, Spike. I see vampires get dusted all the time. _All_ the time. It happens so quick, you know? Blink and you miss it. Seems to me vampires are more fragile than us that way, just poof and they're gone. I can't—you were _losing_, Spike! I've never seen you lose before."

_Been left too much, this one_, Spike thought as Dawn's big wet blue eyes drilled a hole right through his heart that should by all rights be impenetrable. He took her face between his hands and did his best to dispel her deepest fears. "I'm not going anywhere, Bit. Think I'd let something as stupid and slimy and lumbering as that nasty fellow back there make dust of me? Not a chance. Especially not before I'd even finished telling you what's what for the stunt you pulled tonight."

Dawn took a deep, shuddery breath and squared her shoulders, trying with a visible effort to be strong for him. "I'm just saying. Good thing I was there."

"You ought to have been home in bed in the first place, and we'd've avoided the whole business."

She smirked slightly. "But since that _wasn't_ the case … don't I even get a 'nice hit, Bit'?"

He gave her his most severe scowl. "No. Now come on, we've got to get you back to Buffy before she calls the bloody Sunnydale P.D. nancies to come and find you."

As they fell in step again, Spike struggled to banish the memory of that thing lunging for Dawn, the paralyzing jolt of fear, of _certainty_, that he wouldn't be able to push her out of the way in time, that he would be damned to an eternity of torment, never able to close his eyes without seeing once more the horror in his sweet bit's eyes as he failed both of his girls for a second and final time.

xXxXx

Well, I seem to be drifting away from fluffy, don't I? I just couldn't get this scene out of my head, so now I can rest easy. Does anyone want more, or should I put it to rest? Thanks so much for the reviews; they are MUCH appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

Dawn was safe in bed. Grounded for what Buffy assured her was the rest of her life and dutifully pissed about it, but safe in bed. That taken care of, Buffy stood by the back door and watched Spike from the window, sitting on the top step of the porch and blowing an occasional smoke ring at the sky. Brooding. If she said that word to him he would be righteously offended, as it was a term almost solely ascribed to another vampire—one who would remain nameless if she didn't want to see the vein in Spike's temple pop right out of his head. Not fair game for discussion, that particular ex.

Finally, when he was lighting his third cigarette in a row, she opened the door and went to sit beside him on the step. He didn't acknowledge her presence until she leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder.

"Thought you were going to spy on me till daybreak."

"Thought you were challenging sunrise," she countered. "And I don't feel like sweeping dust off the deck. Come to bed, Spike. Please?"

He offered her a half-hearted smirk. "I like it when you beg, pet." He exhaled a cloud of smoke and smiled more sincerely when she wrinkled her nose and waved the air in front of her face distastefully. "So delicate, the Chosen One," he remarked dryly.

"Just because you won't die of lung cancer doesn't mean I should have to be subjected to your secondhand carcinogens for the rest of my life," she lectured. "Besides. It smells yucky."

He raised an eyebrow at her, biting back a smile. "The rest of your life, yeah?"

She almost blushed and tore her gaze from the probing scrutiny of his blue eyes. "You heard me."

"I did," he said, nodding. "I thought I'd give you a chance to take it back." He held up a finger to curb her quick, defensive reply. "_One_. Chance. It's gone now."

"I'm sorry," she muttered softly, placing her hand high up on his thigh. "I shouldn't have yelled at you tonight. I—I was just worried about her. It wasn't your fault."

He gave her an incredulous look. "I must be dreaming. Did you just apologize to me, Slayer? _Me,_ evil dead thing that I am?"

She tightened the hand that was resting on his thigh warningly. "Don't be a smartass," she said. "I just … I was wrong, and … well, you ended up bringing her home in one piece, and if you hadn't found her in time, God only knows what might have happened. I should have known you'd come through. You always have."

Spike took a long drag from his cigarette, dropped it, and ground it out with the heel of his boot. "Not exactly true, though, is it," he muttered, his voice deep and gruff. "The 'always' bit."

Buffy sighed deeply. There it was again, the burden he refused to let go. She took his cool, strong hands in hers and squeezed them hard. "Spike. Look at me."

He reluctantly raised his shadowed eyes and gave her a sour smile. "Come on, Buffy, you know that's the truth. I screwed up. I failed you. I failed Dawn. If your friends hadn't been so bloody brass-balled to try that spell you would still be gone and nothing would be different now. I can't forgive myself for that. I won't."

"You have to," Buffy snapped, harsher than she'd intended. "I'm back, and it doesn't matter how I got here. You did everything you could have done to protect us that night, Spike; nobody questions that! _Xander_ doesn't question that, and that's saying something. Not to mention what you did for Dawn while I was gone, the way you watched over her. You say you won't forgive yourself, well I won't let you keep punishing yourself for things that were out of your hands. One of us is going to have to give."

Spike's jaw clenched and unclenched rhythmically as he bit back a reflexive sarcastic retort. After a long pause, he turned toward Buffy and took her hands in his. "It won't be me, not this time, love. You believe what you're saying, I know you do. But they're just words, sweet. Just words. They don't change it. They can't erase what happened."

"Then I'll give you more than words," she whispered huskily, moving in to kiss him as her hands slowly, deliberately sought him out in the darkness.

"Buffy," he breathed, as she touched him and her sweet scent and taste intoxicated him as always. "Oh, my Buffy, my girl, I don't deserve this, I don't deserve you…"

They managed, barely, to make it to the bedroom.

xXxXx

"…So then I raised the trash can up and hit it as hard as I could on the back of the head. It was so cool; it turned around to look at me like, 'hey, that hurt!' And then it…"

"…almost ripped your pretty head off bare-handed. Don't leave that part out."

Dawn, perched on the kitchen counter and enthusiastically recalling her slightly skewed version of the previous nights events for Xander, looked up to see Spike standing there, rumpled and sleepy-looking. In the bright overhead light, he looked pretty banged up; even more so than she'd noticed last night.

"Oh, come on. It did not."

Spike gave her his trademark raised-eyebrow look and opened the fridge door. "Is there anymore of that pig's blood in here?" he asked.

"I think it's behind the milk," Dawn said. "Or if not, Buffy moved some packets to the freezer. We were running out of room in there now that she's actually remembering to do the grocery shopping every week."

"Ah, here." Spike found one of the bloodbags and turned to find Dawn handing him a smiley face coffee mug. He gave her a friendly little wink as he took it and began to pour his repulsive excuse for breakfast into it.

Xander frowned at the casual, too-familiar exchange. "So. You're, ah, _sleeping_ here now?" he asked, the disapproval positively dripping from the words.

Spike couldn't resist a smirk at the boy's barely suppressed anger. "Buffy didn't tell you?" he asked, wishing Dawn weren't present so he could add "Not doing much _sleeping_, actually" for good measure.

"Buffy did not tell me," Xander said. "Dawnie? Did you know about this?"

Dawn winced a little over the rim of her orange juice glass. "Um, well. Yeah, kinda."

"Wonderful. All kinds of role model goodness in this house. I have half a mind to call Child Welfare myself."

"Come on, Xander, I'm not a baby," Dawn protested at his grumbling. "It's not like I'm gonna go out and hook up with the first hot vampire I meet just because my sister has a soft spot for them…"

"Hey!" Xander and Spike protested at the same time. After a quick glare at each other across the room, Spike went on. "Damn right you won't. And there's no call to bring _him_ into this; I'll lose my appetite."

Dawn smiled teasingly. "Who, Angel? Did I even say that?"

"I'm warning you, Niblet!"

"Okay, okay. Anyway, Xander, it's really fine. Buffy and Spike are very, um, discrete."

Hearing this, Xander's eyes actually seemed to shoot sparks at Spike, who was eyeing Dawn with an expression of equal parts suspicion and discomfort. The tension level went up a few notches when Buffy came in, wearing silky red pajamas and smiling tentatively at the three of them. "Hey, Xander, I didn't know you were here." She shot a quick glance at Spike and then looked back at her friend, hoping against hope that he would keep his evident disapproval to himself. It was much too early to deal with macho-protective Xander. "What are you guys talking about?"

"I'm assuring everyone that I can't hear anything that goes on in your bedroom," Dawn offered helpfully, seeming to enjoy the discomfort she was spreading. "Even though the walls are really thin and Buffy's voice tends to carry."

"Okaaaay," Buffy breathed, turning her back to them and rummaging in the fridge as she felt her cheeks redden.

"Buffy, can I have a word with you?" Xander asked.

"No," Spike answered, ignoring Buffy's warning glare and Xander's look of death. "You're just going to try to poison her mind against me, and it's pointless, mate. Get used to the new living arrangements. None of your damn business anyway."

"Spike, that's enough," Buffy commanded. "Xander, if he's right, and that's what you want to talk about, then you can save your breath. Anything else, you know you don't have to ask."

Xander looked over at Dawn, who was taking all of this in interestedly. "Never mind," he mumbled sulkily. "We'll do it later, I'd rather not get into this in front of…"

"I'm not a kid!" Dawn piped up.

Xander offered her a distracted smile and stood up, draining the last of his coffee and tossing the cup in the sink as he walked toward the door. "Tell Will I'll pick her up later."

"Xander…" Buffy began, but he cut her off with a flick of his hand and was out the door before she could even think of what she wanted to say. "Damn," she finished as the door slammed shut.

"Wanker," Spike muttered, shaking his head disdainfully.

"That could have been worse," Dawn said brightly. "I think he took it okay. There was no hitting, or yelling, or … staking."

Buffy sighed and turned toward her sister. "Dawn, tell me something. When you say that my voice carries…"

"Oh, ew, Buffy!" she interrupted. "I was just trying to freak you out."

"Oh. Oh, okay. Thank God."

"But you know, if you guys want to be alone tonight, no kids within earshot, there's this party…"

Their answers came simultaneously.

"Forget it, Dawn."

"Not a chance, Bit."


	5. Chapter 5

It was like walking around in a stinky bubble, Buffy decided, pondering the smell that always followed her home after a shift at the Doublemeat. She'd have to take an extra long shower if she wanted Spike to come anywhere near her tonight; damn those vampires and their super senses. Not that he minded. He would still want her if she had spent the day rolling around naked in the drippings from the deep fryer (he might, in fact, be turned on by the visual), but she wasn't quite as adventurous.

"I'm home, who's here?" she called as she stepped gratefully through the front door and immediately began shedding the outer layers of her loathsome grease-laden uniform. "Don't worry, I didn't bring dinner with me," she added for Dawn's sake. Dawn had made it clear that Doublemeat Palace food was no longer acceptable sustenance.

"Buffy?"

Buffy turned to see Dawn standing in the hallway that led to the kitchen, looking nervous and twitchy, practically bouncing on her heels. "That's my name. What's up?"

"Buffy, it's, ah … well, someone is … um …"

"It's all right, Dawnie, I don't think I need a formal introduction."

Dawn squeezed her eyes shut as the voice spoke from behind her. She'd wanted to warn Buffy first. A warning would have been good, judging from the look on her sister's face.

After a long, awkward pause, he said, "Or maybe I do?"

Buffy found her voice. "Angel?"

He smiled. "Okay, good. You remember my name; that's progress."

"Angel."

"Yep, still me."

"Angel! What are you—hi. And what are you doing here?"

"I had business in town; we got a tip about a shaman who might be able to help us with one of our cases. I thought I'd drop in and check on you while I'm here. The way we left things before …."

He trailed off, and Buffy thought back to their last encounter, when he had first heard the news of her resurrection. They'd met on neutral territory, in a town about halfway between L.A. and Sunnydale and proceeded to spend the next twenty-four hours hashing out all their issues and reaffirming their reasons for not being together. It hadn't been pretty, and she hadn't cried. She seemed to remember that simple fact being more upsetting than the situation itself, the absolute lack of emotional impact over something that once would have torn her apart.

"Oh," Buffy said weakly. Suddenly struck by an unnerving thought, she looked sharply at Dawn. "Dawnie, where's—?"

"Out."

"Did he—?"

"No, Angel got here after."

Resisting the urge to sigh with relief, Buffy nodded. "Okay, then, good. Angel, come, sit down. Do you want anything? A drink? Blood? We have—" She bit the words off, in no way prepared to explain why there was a month's supply of pig's blood stored in their freezer.

"No thanks, I'm fine," Angel said, taking a seat on one end of the couch and giving Buffy a strange, searching look.

Buffy took her sister's arm and tried to steer her into the living room, hoping that maybe her presence would help quell some of the looming awkwardness, but Dawn resisted, pulling out of Buffy's grasp and heading for the stairs. "I've got homework," she announced. "Besides," she added with a trace of malicious delight, "I'm grounded; I'm not supposed to be hanging out or having fun." At Buffy's glare, Dawn grinned and ran up to her room.

Silence descended on the two left in the living room. At last Angel cleared his throat. "So," he said, trying to keep his tone casual. "Spike."

Startled, Buffy raised her eyes to meet his. "Wha—huh? How—? _No!"_

"No?"

"NO!"

"Buffy, really. There's no need to lie to me."

"I'm not lying to you, Angel. I don't even know what you're talking about."

"You don't know what I'm talking about? Listen, I'm just curious, and maybe a little concerned. I'm not judging."

"You _are_ judging. You're _always_ judging. You're the judgiest person I know. And this time, you're wrong. So you can take your judgment and just—stick it!"

"_Stick_ it?"

"Will you stop repeating everything I say?"

"Will you stop being so—okay, no. I'm not going to play this game with you, Buffy. Just believe me when I tell you that you're making an enormous and quite possibly dangerous mistake. And the fact that you won't even admit what we both know damn well is the truth should give you some idea that I'm right."

"Where do you get off talking to me this way? You have no clue what's going on in my life."

"And you're up to date on mine?"

"No, but I'm not showing up at _your_ door spewing words of wisdom from Angel Knows Best!"

"Buffy, Spike is a topic about which I really _do_ know best. I spent a lot of years with the guy, and I know him, much better than I want to. And I think that qualifies me to tell you I really hate the idea of you and he—"

"Speaking of that past you share, he's told me a few things about _you_ that I'd rather not know," Buffy threw in hotly. "So I'd advise you to refrain from talking to me about the good old days with Spike and Darla and Drusilla. The subject kind of makes me sick."

Angel flinched a little at her tone. He looked at this girl he still loved who positively reeked of his old nemesis, and he had to fight back the flash of irrational anger that she would be so stupid as to be taken in by Spike. She was glaring at him, challenging him to say another word about the man who shared her bed. Behind her, a tall figure in a black leather coat appeared in the hallway shadows, silent as only a vampire can be, noticed only by Angel.

"How long have you been sleeping with him?" Angel asked calculatedly.

Her lie was reflexive, automatic. It seemed to surprise her. "I'm not sleeping with Spike!"

Satisfied, Angel sat back on the couch to watch as Spike stepped into view, adopting his old cocky swagger as if to camouflage his bruised pride. "Is that so, Slayer?" he asked quietly. "Could have fooled me."

Buffy gasped and turned to face him, her cheeks flushing. "Spike! I didn't hear you come in."

He smirked at her, his eyes cold. "Obviously."

"I didn't mean … it's none of his business what's going on. I was just telling him that."

"We'd hate to have Gramps here thinking good sweet Buffy was doing something so depraved as shagging a vampire … oh, wait." He turned a hateful glare on Angel, who was wearing the tiniest hint of a smile. "Only with _me_ she doesn't have to worry about being murdered in her bed once I've got my rocks off."

"I wonder how fast that would change if your muzzle ever came off," Angel said lightly.

"Guys, stop it," Buffy said. "Spike, can we talk about this later?"

"Why's that, pet? Why not skip the talk and just show Angel what we do best?" His eyes were fixed on his grandsire as he spoke, and the heat of hatred between them was thick in the air.

"Knock it off," Buffy said, slapping Spike's hand away from her waist as he reached for her.

"Tell him," Spike said, putting his hands on her butt and pulling her against him. "Tell him who you belong to. Tell him who makes you scream every night."

"Spike." Buffy's tone was cold as ice. "Stop it."

Angel stood up and moved toward them. "Get your hands off her, William. I'm warning you."

"Not yours to command anymore, Angel. That's gotta smart a bit, yeah? After all these years you still can't stand to lose anything to me. All those times you banged Dru just to show me who was boss … doesn't matter now that I've won the only thing you ever really wanted."

With a mighty shove, Buffy broke free of Spike's embrace, and there was a loud, flat _crack_ as her palm whipped hard across his cheek. "_No one_ has won me," she said, her voice shaking with anger. "Keep whatever this is between the two of you. I want no part of it." With that, she stalked out of the room and upstairs, slamming her bedroom door so hard a painting fell off the wall in the hallway.

In her own bedroom, Dawn looked up from the science textbook she hadn't really been studying. Curious, she went out to the landing. Buffy's door was closed, and she could hear Angel and Spike downstairs. Uh oh … Angel and _Spike._ She tiptoed down until she could see them through the banister bars, standing a few feet apart and speaking in quiet but deadly voices. Spike's back was to her, and she couldn't quite make out their words, but it was apparent from the expression on Angel's face that they weren't discussing the weather.

Thinking maybe she could break the tension, she took a deep breath and went to mediate the two vampires in her living room. Without turning around, Spike said, "Go back upstairs, Bit. This doesn't concern you."

"Maybe it does," Angel countered. "Maybe Dawnie needs to know what you're all about. Everyone seems to have you pretty miscalculated, Spike. What have you done to convince them? Or are they just blind followers?"

"Don't you look at her," Spike said as Angel's eyes met Dawn's over his shoulder. "I'll dust you where you stand."

"I'd like to see you try." Angel took a threatening step toward Spike.

"Hey!" Dawn protested, moving up next to Spike and threading her arm through his. "How about a nice glass of blood? I'll warm it up, you guys can have a seat and maybe chill out a little. Put things in perspective. What do you say?" She looked back and forth between them hopefully.

Spike finally turned to look at her. "Go back to your room, Dawn."

"No need, Dawn," Angel said as the girl, realizing Spike meant business, turned to go. "Tell your sister—tell her I'm sorry. I'm _right_, but I'm sorry. As for you, Spike, I'll leave you to this pending disaster. But if you—_when_ you hurt them, my mercy automatically times out."

"As does mine, Peaches, next time you come near me and mine."

Angel rolled his eyes and held his arms out toward Dawn. "It was good to see you; I'm sorry the circumstances were so unpleasant."

Dawn stepped forward to give him a hug, but Spike caught the back of her shirt and pulled her away. "That'll do," he said.

He and his grandsire exchanged one last smoking glance before Angel turned and walked out of the house, shutting the door behind him.

"Well _that_ was weird," Dawn said after a heavy pause. "You guys aren't exactly best friends, are you?"

Spike didn't answer, just started for the stairs.

"Wait, where are you going?" Dawn asked.

"Need to have a chat with Big Sis. Keep out of it."

Dawn stared after him with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

xXxXx

_**Please review so that I can gauge the interest level in this story. That helps feed the inspiration (or kill it, depending on the circumstances). Thanks in advance!**_


	6. Chapter 6

She had locked the door, the little twit. Spike rolled his eyes at the childish audacity of such a maneuver, when she knew good and bloody well that something as flimsy as a lock wouldn't keep him out. Still, he observed the tenets of human decency by knocking first, a sharp rap with his knuckle.

"Buffy, let me in."

"No," came the muffled response, prompting another eyeroll from Spike.

"Don't be ridiculous, we need to talk."

"No," she said again, more firmly. "Go away."

"Don't make me break the door down."

"Don't you _dare_ break the door down."

"Come on, pet…" He opened his mouth to formulate some pleading argument, and then remembered that this was _Buffy_, and arguing with her was a waste of time. With a sharp jerk of the doorknob and a kick to the base of the door, he solved the problem. She was lying face-down on the bed, her hair fanned out around her head like a halo. She had changed out of her work clothes, he noted, and was wearing a spaghetti-strap tee shirt and pajama bottoms with little teddy bears printed on them—not quite the silky, sexy nightclothes she chose when a night of carnal pleasure was on her mind. He stood and watched her prone form for several moments before speaking.

"I staked Angel," he said casually. "Hope you got your goodbyes out before."

Buffy sighed and sat up to face him, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees in a hopelessly endearing, childlike posture that threatened to dissolve some of Spike's justifiable anger. "Did not," she said. "You two enjoy your warped sparring too much to ever kill each other."

"Keep believing that, pet. Next time he butts into things that don't concern him, I'll prove you wrong."

"You won't." Her eyes held some warning, belying the power she wielded in spite of the innocent facade. "I wouldn't let you."

He eyed her carefully. "Still love him, do you?"

"I'll always love him," she said, oblivious to Spike's subtle wince as those words cut into him. "In some way," she added softly.

"So I'm the skeleton in your closet, then."

"That's not true."

"You lied to Angel about us, Buffy. I heard you with my own ears; you can't deny it. _'I'm not sleeping with Spike.'_ I know why you said it, too. Not humility, not protecting your fragile reputation amongst the people you love … _wishful thinking_."

She took a moment too long to answer, robbing her next words of credibility. "That's not true either. I don't know why I lied. It just came out. I didn't want to deal with his—"

"Jealousy? Anger? Overhanging brow?" Spike offered when she didn't finish her sentence.

Buffy's eyes met his reluctantly as she said, "Disappointment."

Spike let that sink in for a moment, holding her gaze mercilessly. "Because that's the worst, is it? Angel, Giles, Xander, even the witches … all the ones who knew you best, back when you were someone else … it's your greatest burden, fear of what would happen if they knew what we know, what we _feel_ every time we're together, every time you let me slip inside you and allow yourself to go. Disappointment. They'd shake their heads and wag their fingers and cluck their bloody tongues, and you ... don't want to deal with it? God, you're the weakest of the strong, love."

"Spike…"

He shook his head, refusing to let her speak until he'd said his piece. "I'm not your plaything, to toss about and store away out of sight when you're done for fear of someone catching you at it. You _mangle_ my heart, Buffy, every time I look at you, and I don't think it can take much more. I know I can't." He sat down on the bed and pried her hands from around her legs, squeezing them tight enough to hurt. "I love you, Buffy. _I._ _love._ _you_. And I lived without you, once. When you came back I thought the torment would end. But it's worse; it's just getting worse every time we're together, every time I hold you and feel you looking over my shoulder to make sure we're alone. Every time you jump out of your skin when someone walks through the door. Fuck's sake, Buffy, just stake me and get it over with. This slow torture is just bloody _wrong_."

"Spike, I—what are you saying?"

"I refuse to be your shame. That might once have been a fitting label, but I won't wear it anymore. Not now that you love me back and only _wish_ you didn't."

"I do love you. You know I do."

"And Giles?"

She looked startled, and her eyes flashed guiltily. "What about him?"

"What does he know about us?"

Buffy shook her head pleadingly. "Spike, that's not important."

"It is. It is to you."

"What do you want me to do? My friends all know about us. I stood up to Xander when he tried to intervene. I let you move in here even though it's probably sending all kinds of wrong messages to Dawn. You want me to go yell it from the rooftops all over Sunnydale? What do you _want_ from me?" Buffy paused to swipe irritably at the tears that were trying to slip from the corners of her eyes. Spike restrained himself from the urge to kiss those tears away. "I'm _sorry_ I lied to Angel, okay? You're right, I _am_ weak. But this isn't easy, Spike. None of this is easy. Loving you sure as hell isn't!"

He caught her wrists and pulled her into his embrace, shushing her soothingly. "That's what I've been saying all this time," he whispered into her hair. "But it's not supposed to be. What would be the bloody point? You have to suffer for true love. It's not about comfort; it's about passion. It's about pain. It's what you long for."

Buffy pulled away and looked at him with overflowing eyes. "No. No, I don't want it to be."

"Not your choice to make, love."

"Then whose? It's up to us what we are, Spike, if we're going to be anything more than _this_—more than violent sex and empty words. I need more than that."

"I'll _give_ you more, Buffy, anything. Just tell me what you want."

"I don't know, I want to feel clean again … and good. I'm weary of being so ashamed."

Spike's jaw clenched tightly, and he studied her closely before responding. "So that is it, then, I'm right. What's at the heart of it, still."

"It's not you. Not really. It's me, it's something in me. I'm not who I was before, Spike, and only you seem to realize that. And I'm constantly having to put on this show for the rest of them because they shouldn't have to deal with the horror of what I've become."

"It's not a horror, Buffy. It's just you. It's natural that you'd've changed after what you went through, no one could—"

"_Nothing_ is natural about what happened to me, Spike! Nothing. Not the way I went out, sure as hell not the way I came back. Why would it be natural that I ended up sleeping with a vampire who used to spend every waking moment dreaming up new and creative ways to add me to his dead-Slayer conquest list?"

"Buffy…"

"No. Please don't try to paint a normal face on this, because that just makes it more horrible."

Spike sprang to his feet and looked down at her, his eyes blazing. "Am I horrible? What we have … is it horrible?"

She studied the bedspread. "Well, except for Dawn, everyone else seems to think so."

"_Fuck_ everyone else, Buffy! What do _you_ think?"

"I think we're fooling ourselves by pretending we can ever be a functional, hand-holding, cuddles-by-the-fire kind of couple."

"Don't even try that with me, that's not what you want."

"How do you know?" She swallowed hard and forced herself to meet his eyes before saying something she knew would hit him like a ton of bricks. "It's what I had with Angel."

She'd expected a reaction, perhaps a violent one, but got nothing but a slight thinning of the lips. "You call that functional," he said, his voice low but hard. "You're rewriting history with the rosy hindsight of a schoolgirl. What you had with him was every bit the freakshow, and you're lying to yourself if you deny that."

"Maybe. But it feels true."

They stared at one another in a drawn-out silence so heavy it seemed to rob the room of oxygen. Spike opened his mouth to speak a couple of times, but then didn't, which alone was out of character. At last he started out of the room.

"Spike, wait."

He didn't, though. He closed the door behind him and started down the stairs. He was out the front door and halfway down the path when the bit's voice stopped him. He turned reluctantly to see her small frame silhouetted in the doorway.

"What happened? Where are you going?" she asked, so timid it broke his heart.

"Nothing for you to worry over, sweet," he said in a valiant attempt at a carefree tone. "It's late. You should go to bed."

"I can't sleep when you're not here."

His smile wavered and he didn't trust himself to respond to that. He fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette and lit it with shaking hands.

"Did you and Buffy have a fight?" she pressed.

He rolled his eyes as he exhaled a nerve-steadying cloud of smoke. "Not as such, no," he answered truthfully. "We just talked."

"About Angel? Are you mad that he showed up here? Because it really wasn't Buffy's fault, Spike. He came to the door. I'm the one who let him in. I didn't know it was going to cause trouble, or I would have told him to go away. I promise. So be mad at me, not her, okay?"

Her earnest blue eyes pierced his heart, and for just a moment he almost hated her for it; hated them both, for their mutual iron grip on him. Then the feeling passed and all that remained was the old suffocating love that shackled him to these two for better or worse. Usually, it seemed, the latter.

"It's not like that, Niblet," he said. "Now stop being such a nosy brat, and do as I tell you. Go inside, bolt the door, go to bed. I'll see you soon."

"When?"

"Soon. Leave it."

"Can I come with you?"

He arched an eyebrow at her dubiously. "Let me think. _No._"

"If you're not leaving for good, you'll let me come."

"Dawn, I haven't got the time or the patience for this adolescent shit. You've got ten seconds to get your ass back inside that house and lock the door. I'm hereby not responsible for any bodily harm I might inflict if you keep pestering me."

"Fine, then, just leave," she said, her voice wavering, teary. "I knew you would. You're just like everybody else. I hate you."

"Yeah? Well it's mutual!" he shouted after her as she turned her back on him and slammed the door with all her strength.

He stood still and waited, listening for the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place. Only when he heard it did he turn and walk away into the night.

xXxXx

_**Feedback, please? Anyone with me?**_


	7. Chapter 7

**_Hey guys, thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you're liking it so far, and I hope you will continue to. Knowing that someone is reading and enjoying it has kept my updates a lot more frequent than they probably would be otherwise, so thanks for that, too. Longer chapter this time; let me know what you think of this one too, and thanks in advance for taking the time to review._**

xXxXx

Buffy's door was still standing open, so Dawn walked in. Not that she wouldn't have anyway, pissed as she was. She found her sister lying on her back on the bed, her hands covering her face. She would have assumed she was crying if she didn't know better. Not Buffy. Not _this_ Buffy, as Dawn had come to think of the girl Willow and the others had raised from the grave, this Buffy who couldn't seem to feel any emotion acutely enough to cause actual tears.

"What did you do to make Spike storm out of here?" Dawn had intended to open with something a little less accusatory, but so much for that. At least one of them could be honest about what they were feeling.

Slowly, Buffy removed her hands from her face and looked over at her sister seriously. Dawn had been right. No tears. "He stormed?" she said, sounding bewildered. "Spike doesn't storm."

"He _stormed_. He wouldn't tell me anything, either, and Spike _always_ tells me things. So I want to hear it from you. What happened?"

"Overlooking the fact that it's none of your business? I don't really know."

"What does _that_ mean? What was the fight about?"

"It wasn't a fight. We were just talking. About—us? I don't know. We spend so much of the time speaking in riddles that it can be hard to figure out what either one of us is actually saying. I think I compared him to Angel, or …"

"God, Buffy! Why the hell would you do something that idiotic?"

"Dawn, please. I—That's not what I meant to do. I just … I was pointing out the difference between what I had with Angel and what I have with Spike."

"Still. I've never been in a serious relationship in my life and even _I_ know that comparing your current boyfriend to an ex—_especially_ one he's spent about a century hating—does _not_ make for warm fuzzies."

Buffy finally sat up and shot Dawn a look. "I don't need a lecture from you, all right? I didn't say it was the smartest move. But there was more to it than that. We … I … Spike and I are a complicated matter. And I think maybe we do need some distance right now. So, I'm not sorry he left."

"_What?_"

"Dawn, this isn't something I feel like discussing with you. Will you please leave me alone? It's been a long day."

"Spike just left here, maybe for good, and you don't care? You're actually _glad_? What is the matter with you?"

Buffy sighed heavily. "Dawnie, I know this is upsetting for you. I get that. But please try to understand that it's—

"I _don't_ understand, Buffy! I don't understand _anything_ you say these days!" Buffy cringed as Dawn's tone approached screeching range. "Spike is the best thing that ever happened to you. He loves you more than you probably deserve to be loved considering the way you've treated him, and the fact that you can just let him walk out of here thinking you don't want him because he's not _Angel_? It just proves that you're as self-destructive as the others think you are. But for opposite reasons. _They_ think you're with Spike to punish yourself. They're wrong. You love him and you hate yourself for it because he makes you _want_ to be here, when you'd rather go on blaming everyone for ripping you out of heaven instead of accepting it and letting yourself be happy. You are damaged, but not from what they did to you. You're doing it to yourself."

Buffy stared at Dawn, stunned into speechlessness by the accusation (_insight?_) and the force behind it. Dawn stared right back, her gaze tearful but steady, challenging Buffy to react, to defend herself or break down or simply tell Dawn to mind her own damn business. After what seemed an eternity, Buffy turned her back on her sister and lay back down on the bed, effectively ending the confrontation. Avoidance, she had recently discovered, was a valuable coping mechanism. It kept things from hurting too much.

xXxXx

The bartender didn't seem to understand that when Spike said "Keep 'em coming," he _meant_ it—in the most literal sense possible. The third time he had to slam his shot glass down on the bar and point meaningfully to indicate its emptiness, he grabbed the hapless barkeep's wrist as he poured the tequila. With his other hand, Spike pried the bottle from his grasp and took possession of it, releasing the man and taking a long swig.

"Just so we avoid any further miscommunication, mate," he said, and the bartender nodded vigorously, rubbing his wrist. His tenure working behind the bar in a primarily demon establishment had taught him the painful lesson that the customer was always right—especially when said customer was one pissed-off and already half-drunk vampire.

Spike blamed Buffy for the fact that his initial impulse had been to go to the bloody _Bronze, _and what did that say about him except that she had him by the balls and he was slowly losing every bit of what made him Spike, a vampire to be reckoned with if ever there was one.

And what a joke that was. Not since the government boys had shoved this bleeding chip in his head had he truly been anything of the sort. And then what? Then he had fallen for Buffy, fallen harder than anyone in the history of love, and anything evil that remained in him was buried in that, for _her_ sake, so that she might come to believe he could be good even if it went against everything in his nature. If she thought he could be her nice, well-heeled vamp-lover then all would be roses. Except she had proven time and again that she didn't believe that, never would no matter how many different ways he showed her. Even though he hadn't tasted human blood in ages, even though he had played babysitter to her kid sister for months just because he promised her. She still couldn't say the word love while looking him in the eye.

He gulped from the bottle and savored the fire that singed its way down his throat and into his stomach, a feeling that stirred sour, aching memories of a night in a graveyard with a broken child at his elbow, but he wouldn't think of that. Not now, not when he was trying to lose her, lose them both, in the depths of this bottle.

The bitch had tamed him. And now she was trying to dissolve everything they had built since her return, all because those sanctimonious assholes she called friends refused to understand. His hand tightened unconsciously on the neck of the bottle, itching to throw it at the wall in a momentarily satisfying smash of glass, liquor, startled screams. Instead he threw a wad of cash on the bar without looking at it and made his unsteady way for the door.

…And surely he must be much, much drunker than he thought. Surely he must be out-of-his-mind trashed, because that long-haired bint standing in the center of the dark, smoky room flanked by two burly Cyrangi demons looked amazingly like … but no. Stubborn and immature she was, but she surely didn't have a death wish. That was the older one's bag. He kept walking, shoving demons out of his way.

"_Spike!"_

The terribly familiar squeal over the near-deafening bar noise stopped him in his tracks, and he turned so fast he almost fell over as the room swayed dizzily. His eyes narrowed, trying to focus. The Cyrangi next to the girl turned at the same time, both of them laughing as if sharing in the joke that had become his life, a vampire at the mercy of humans—by choice. Spike glowered back, wanting nothing more than to turn and continue on his way and be able to live with himself as any self-respecting vampire _should_ be able to do. Had it been anyone but her he would have done just that. And then he regained enough sense to notice that one of them was _touching_ her; one of those monsters had its filthy demon hand on Dawn, and in a flash he was there, the tequila bottle smashed over its head, and the fight was on.

They were easy to take out, Cyrangi—big, but more showy than tough, and Spike made quite efficient work of it, considering his shaky hold on sobriety. He was perhaps rougher than the situation called for, putting the rage of the entire evening into each hit and kick and feeling more acutely than usual the satisfaction of a good fight. When it was over and they were bleeding on the ground, he locked eyes with a crying Dawn who was cowering by the door, her thin arms wrapped around herself. He stepped over the great unconscious lumps at his feet and walked out of the bar with her in tow.

"I'm sorry, Spike, are you okay?" Dawn asked urgently as they started away from the dank hole in the wall. The fact that he wasn't speaking, not even to yell at her, filled her with fear. "I was worried, so I came looking for you. I figured you'd be here. You used to come here … you know, over the summer. Those things wouldn't leave me alone; they were all over me. I freaked." He was walking too fast. She trotted a few paces to keep up. "Spike? Are you mad? Why won't you look at me?"

He shook her hand off his arm as if shooing away an exceptionally annoying insect. "Get yourself away from this place," he said shortly.

"You're not coming with me?"

"No. You're always saying you're a big girl now, so prove it. Just don't expect me to bail you out if you have another run-in with an evil beastie tonight. I've had it with the lot of you. I'm done."

"Where are you going?"

"Anywhere _you're_ not. You and the Slayer," he added, keeping his eyes safely away from her face so he didn't have to witness the sting of his words. "Bugger off."

Dawn stopped walking. "Spike, what happened to you? Why are you acting like this?" she demanded, her voice trembling. "Look, I know I shouldn't have come after you, but I was worried, and I wanted to tell you that I'm on your side. I didn't mean it when I said I hate you. I talked to Buffy, and she said—"

"I don't want to know," he snapped, turning around and walking back a few paces to where she stood rooted to the sidewalk. He took her by the shoulders and spat the next words out viciously, shaking her a bit for emphasis. "Don't you get it, I'm through with you both. I'm tired of being your bloody pet monster, and I won't do it anymore. Go home, or go find your little boyfriend and play grown-up, but whatever you do, make sure it's far from me. You get it?"

Dawn watched him sweep away from her and continue down the street, her mouth hanging open in shock.

xXxXx

When had Dawnie become so intuitive? And so hurtful about it? Buffy pondered this as she sat on the bed, fully dressed now, in the throes of an internal debate over whether or not to go out and find Spike. _You love him and you hate yourself for it because he makes you _want_ to be here ... You are damaged, but not from what they did to you. You're doing it to yourself. _

She wasn't wrong. But Buffy wasn't quite prepared to admit that her sister was right, exactly, either. All she knew was that, right or wrong, she did love him. She knew because she had tried, over and over again in a million different ways, to make herself and everyone around her believe she didn't. Failing that, there was simply nothing left but to come to terms with it: She, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, was hopelessly in love with William the Bloody. Still she couldn't envision this becoming acceptable in her vital little circle. She couldn't picture sitting down with Giles over tea and saying, "So, how are things in England? Everything's great here. Will's off the magicks, Xander and Anya are as functional as ever, and oh yeah, Spike moved in with me and Dawn. Because we're in love, not because we're having sex … but that too."

Laughing humorlessly at the look on Imaginary Giles' face, Buffy flopped back on the bed and groaned.

"_Buffy!_"

She sat up like a shot at the sound of the front door slamming and Dawn's frantic shout. "Dawnie? I'm right here, what is it?" She went out to the landing just as her sister was running up the stairs, breathing hard, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. Buffy caught her by the shoulders before she could run blindly past.

"Whatever you did, you have to fix it!" Dawn gasped. "Please, I know you didn't mean for this to happen, so just go and find him and take care of it, Buffy, I'm begging you."

"What? Honey, slow down and tell me what's wrong."

Dawn swallowed, making a visible effort to calm herself. "It's Spike. He says he's done with both of us. He is so angry. He's never talked to me like that before. He just walked off and left me there. It's like he's stopped caring at all. I don't know what's wrong with him, Buffy! Please, please go make this better. I know you can. I know this is about you, not me. But he's put me in it too for some reason, and I don't want to lose him, even if you don't care."

Buffy frowned. "Where was he?"

"He was at that demon bar downtown."

"You went there? By _yourself_?"

"Yes, Buffy, but later with that. He dragged me out and we walked a little ways, and then he told me to leave him alone and he just took off. I don't know where he was going. Back toward his old crypt, maybe. He wouldn't let me follow him. He's pretty drunk. Are you gonna go?"

Buffy moved past Dawn and started down the stairs. "I'll find him. You stay _put_ this time, do you hear me?"

She snatched up her jacket and a stake, because this was Sunnydale, and went to track him down and see if there was anything she could do to repair the damage.


	8. Chapter 8

He followed her home, sticking fast to the shadows so she wouldn't glimpse movement behind her and guess that he was there. It wouldn't do for her to suspect he had meant anything but what he had said to her—yelled at her, rather—on the street back there. Wouldn't do to give her hope that things might turn out all right. He was stealthy, but he was also drunk, and one cement-scuffing footstep almost blew his cover. Ahead of him, Dawn turned, wary as they had taught her _(good girl, Niblet)_, wide-eyed and poised to flee for her life.

"H-hello?" she called. "Is someone there?" Then, murmuring to herself, "Great, Dawn, you've got a bright future in horror movies with lines like that." She turned and started walking again, then paused as if something had occurred to her. Tilting her head slightly in an unconscious imitation of him, she called out softly, hopefully, "Spike? Spike, is that you?"

Still as a statue in the deepest shadow of a nearby shade tree, he waited for her to sense his presence.

"Well screw you, anyway," she said bitterly into the echoing silence when she got no answer. "We don't need you either, you know. You think it's all about you and what you want? It's not. I just wish you'd been straight with me from the beginning instead of pretending you'd be around forever. I knew better, but you made me believe—whatever. It doesn't matter. If you are following me, you can stop. I can take care of myself. And if I can't, and I get killed between here and home, then I doubt you'd lose much sleep over it. Buffy's back now, you're not bound to me anymore. So screw you," she finished, and the angry tone that thinly masked the underlying pain cut Spike to the core. He fought a sudden urge to step out from the shadows, call to her, ease the hurt he'd inflicted.

Dawn suddenly realized she was standing in the middle of a dark, seemingly deserted street, telling off someone who probably wasn't there. Scoring major cool points. Janice would be so proud. She sighed, giving up the stupid blind hope that had flared in her when she heard the scuffing noise. Now she had to get to Buffy, had to make her sister realize the extent of the damage she had done. And to repair it before it was too late; before Spike left town or did something equally stupid. Before they lost him.

xXxXx

Spike watched until the front door of the Summers' house had slammed behind Dawn, enclosing her safely within. Then he turned and started back down the street, not sure of where he was going but determined to get away from this place. He gratefully lit a cigarette; he had been craving one since leaving the bar but had to abstain so that Dawn wouldn't detect his presence.

He didn't care, of course. He had followed the bit home, yeah, but only because he was heading the same direction. Bloody Slayer should put a leash on that one before she ran afoot of the wrong sort and got herself drained to the last drop. Wouldn't have old reliable Spike to watch out for her any longer, that was for certain. This wasn't the life for him, and fuck them all for containing him even this long. He'd been blind. Seeing Angel in Buffy's living room had changed things. Angel—_Angelus_—with his looming presence and now-soulful eyes, the same eyes whose merciless emptiness had once struck the fear of God in all they fell upon. Even in Spike, his student, his child. Drusilla had sired him but Angelus had made him what he was. What he _used_ to be, before the Slayer had seeped into his blood and taken over. Before he had sacrificed all for a love that should have been unattainable. Buffy herself had removed the restrictions. But now, seeing how easily she lied to Angel, how naturally, reflexively she denied him, was the wake-up call he needed. They weren't meant to be, any more than Angel and Buffy had been. He saw it now. He hated what he saw, but it was there, and it was undeniable.

xXxXx

Buffy would never admit it, but she was afraid as she set out to find Spike. He had never been one to walk away from her, not even when she had first come back and tried in all the ways she knew to inflict on him, safe and easy target that he was, some of the pain she was feeling. This time he had walked out, and they hadn't even really been fighting. And Dawn was so upset—granted, Dawn was an emotional roller coaster on the best of days, but still—Buffy had to wonder if Spike really meant it when he said he was done with them.

Two vamps accosted her on the way to Spike's crypt. She made quick work of them, not even bothering with the banter or the showy moves that had become so much a part of her she could perform her Slayer duties in her sleep. She staked them, brushed off their dust, and kept going. She caught sight of a third one watching the pitiful excuse for a fight from behind a large tombstone and pinned him with a stare.

"Well come on, if you're going to. I don't have time to play right now," she said in a bored tone, twirling the stake in her hand like a baton.

The vampire paused, seeming to ponder this invitation to tangle with the Slayer herself, and then turned and ran off into the night. Buffy turned and ran smack into Spike. Recovering before she let out an unseemly scream, she shoved him back away from her.

"You'd better watch it with the sneaking up on people," she chided, lowering the stake she had instinctively raised in the collision. "That could've ended badly."

"Yeah? For whom, pet?" He was very drunk; she could smell the fumes coming off him, and he was none too steady on his feet.

"You'd be the one blowing in the wind," she answered noncomittally.

"I'd think that would make everything crystal clear for you, smooth sailing and whatnot."

"You sound like Dawn. Do you really need that kind of reassurance?"

"Not asking for it."

"Really? Well that's good. Because I think it's beneath you."

"Wait, I know this one. But the way I heard it, _I'm_ beneath _you_. Isn't that the real issue here?"

"According to Dawn, we no longer have any issues. Why don't you fill me in, Spike? Give me the same load of crap you gave my sister, and see if I fall for it too."

He shrugged, a studied exercise in indifference. "I meant what I said to her, if that's in question."

"Not in question. Un-fucking-believable. You're done with us? What, because I made a dumb error in judgment with Angel by telling him we're not sleeping together?"

"That's not it. That's not all of it," he amended. "It just made things clear for me, is all. Made me understand that it would always be this way, me dragging you down to my level and waiting there for you to come back to me as you see fit. Once that might have been good enough. Not anymore. You've let me in now, and I thought that would never happen. Once it did the rules changed. I expect more. I need more."

"Funny, I thought that was my line."

"Don't matter so much now anyway, does it? I told Dawn, I'm telling you … it's done. I'm leaving. Getting as far away from you lot as possible, and if we ever happen to cross paths again, you want to keep your distance. I intend to get this chip out so I can be what I'm meant to be, what the love of your life made me. The monster I was before you—before I loved you."

Buffy watched him toss his cigarette away and light another, her face expressionless in the moonlight. "You were a monster," she agreed at last. "You're not anymore. I don't think you can be again."

"We'll see about that."

"If you leave … Spike, if you leave it will break Dawn's heart."

He met her eyes for the first time, raising one eyebrow interestedly. "I know," he said simply. The silence following those words told him that she wasn't going to say what he needed to hear. He nodded to himself, as if affirming the unspoken rejection.

"Can you live with that?" Buffy pressed.

"I've lived with a far cry worse, pet."

Buffy stared into his blue eyes, trying to read him, to break through his impressive barrier of detachment. She couldn't.

"_Don't leave, Spike. It will break _my_ heart if you leave." _

She didn't say it. This time she was the one who walked away.

xXxXx

**_Shall I continue? Reviews are much appreciated._**


	9. Chapter 9

He'd been gone for twenty-seven days, and she missed him every minute. She missed the intoxicating scents of smoke-infused leather and peroxide and the soft sexy gruffness of his voice in her ear when they were thrusting together in their blissful rhythm—the only times they were ever in sync, come to think of it. She missed his hands cupping her ass when they kissed, the sly, teasing smirk he offered so readily, the warmth of his sincere smile, the one she was pretty sure he reserved for the Summers girls alone.

It took about a week before Buffy truly believed that he had left town, a week she spent scouring the well-worn streets of Sunnydale under the premise of patrolling, killing vamps in her path but keeping a hopeful eye out for one in particular. She even asked about him down at Willie's, and although two Cyrangi demons she questioned exchanged nervous glances, no one knew anything.

Dawn, in the meantime, was an emotional hurricane, leaving a path of destruction in her wake wherever she went. She blamed Buffy first and foremost for chasing Spike away, but had devised an entire list of guilty parties who were subject to her wrath: Xander, for being so hard on Spike (no one had the guts to point out to her that not only was Spike not deterred by Xander's disapproval, he actually relished it); Willow, for the spell that had brought Buffy back incapable of the full range of human emotions that might have salvaged the relationship; even sweet Tara, for having the inside scoop from the beginning and doing nothing to ease Buffy's insecurities about being with Spike. And, inexplicably, Giles. Because he had left, and everyone had fallen apart.

"What about Spike?" Buffy demanded of Dawn in the middle of one of the endless shouting matches they'd held on the subject. "He's the one who left, Dawn. Why don't you put the blame where it belongs for a change? We didn't make the decision for him."

In response, Dawn had stormed off to her bedroom, leaving Buffy with a growing certainty that Spike was the one she was truly angry with. It was just easier for her to blame the ones she could look in the eye and shout at and slam doors against. If Spike ever came back, Buffy was sure he would have his own special kind of hell to pay with her sister.

If he came back.

Clem was living in his crypt, holding the fort down and leaving the place a jumble of snack food wrappers and beer cans and empty pizza boxes. Buffy had gone there at the beginning of her search and discovered the new living arrangement, and it left her uneasy for reasons she couldn't quite pinpoint. Spike was oddly neat for a vampire, and would probably hit the roof when he saw the condition of his old residence.

If he came back.

It always came around to that.

xXxXx

"Giles, I have to tell you something."

"Buffy. What's the matter? Is everyone all right?" Giles' voice, distant through the phone lines, was sleep-fuzzed but held an edge of alarm.

Buffy glanced over at the clock on her bedside table and tried to do the time zone math in her head. Giving up on that, she plunged ahead. "No, everyone's not. I'm not. Not at all."

She could hear faint rustling movement and envisioned him sitting up in bed, fumbling for his glasses in the dark (it was almost four in the morning over there, the recesses of her mind confirmed, having finished the calculation), reaching for the lamp. "What is it?" he asked, his voice sharper now, more alert.

"Giles, I've been sleeping with Spike."

Dead silence on the other end.

"Giles? Did you hear me?"

"Buffy, are you in danger, or did you just call to give me a heart attack?"

"I'm not in danger, no. But did you hear what I _said_?"

"Of course I did, I'm not deaf. Good Lord, Buffy, is this what you called to tell me?"

"Yes. I want all my cards on the table. You were the last to know, my holdout because I didn't want you to be ashamed of me, so there, now you know, and now he's got nothing left to throw in my face. If he ever comes back. And if you _are_ ashamed then go ahead and tell me now, get it out of your system, because, Giles, I don't really care anymore. All I know is that since he's been gone I haven't been able to think about anything else, and I miss him, and I need you and everyone else to know that it's not just the sex or the comfort. I mean, the sex is good. Really, really good." Buffy shook her head, realizing how far off track she was drifting. "But that's beside the point. I love him. I do."

"Buf—are you—what the devil are you talking about?"

"I love Spike."

"Wonderful. Is that all?"

"Huh?"

"Buffy, I'm beginning to fear for your sanity. If you've gotten everything off your chest—certain details of which I needn't have known, thank you—then I suggest you hang up the phone now and let me get back to sleep. I'll call you when my head is clear and my heart is not pounding in my ears from the fright you gave me."

"Okay, but really, this is your last chance to tell me you don't approve. You only get the one freebie. After this I'm going to smack down anyone who tries to intervene."

A weary sigh from her Watcher. "Well really, what I think is hardly relevant here. When has my approval or lack thereof ever made the slightest difference in any course of action you choose to take?"

She considered for a moment. "Good point."

"Just promise me one thing, and you'll never hear another word from me on the subject. Promise me you'll be careful."

"I'm always careful. Too careful. But I think this conversation is one step toward fixing that. Go back to sleep, Giles."

xXxXx

Spike laid into Clem when he saw the deplorable condition of his crypt. Clem, who had been taken completely off guard by Spike's sudden appearance in the doorway, was further perplexed by his friend's reaction to a little clutter. Made the place homey, he thought. Neatness was overrated.

"Neatness is overrated," he said.

"Says the floppy-skinned slob," Spike replied sourly.

"Hey! No need to get personal."

"I'm just saying, I asked you to look after the place, and it wouldn't have killed you to clean up after yourself a bit."

"So … are you back, as in, _back_?"

Spike shot him a look. "Looks like."

"The Slayer will be happy to hear that. Poor girl spent forever trying to find you. Even came down to Willie's asking around."

"What did you tell her?" Spike demanded.

"Nothing. I didn't know anything. You wouldn't tell me where you were going."

"Just as well. Did she—You haven't seen her since, though?"

"Nah, I figure she gave up when you didn't turn up after a while. The kid, though…"

Spike looked up sharply. "Yeah? What about her?"

"She comes by every now and again. Pretends to be just stopping in to say hi when she's in the neighborhood, but I kind of think she's hoping to find you here every time." Clem drained the last from the can of Coke in his hand and crushed it, then made to toss it into a corner where he had built up a pretty impressive stash of identical balls of crumpled tin. Catching Spike's warning glance, he shoved the can into his pocket instead. "Says she doesn't care, though. She's a tough cookie, that one. I sure wouldn't want to get on her bad side."

"I s'pose I'm on her bad side, then."

"Hoo boy, are you! She told me if I ever saw you again, to tell you to go get staked. Um, not that I'm telling you that, I'm just telling you what _she_ told me to tell you…" Clem stammered nervously.

Spike nodded. No big surprise there; he'd expected as much. The bit was a tenacious force once you'd crossed her, and he'd crossed her in a big way. But now that he was back—not quite the same but maybe better, at least in their eyes—he could work on regaining her trust. That, and becoming a more deserving candidate for Buffy's love. Surely this shiny new soul could help him achieve that.


	10. Chapter 10

**_I fixed the status (the story is not complete) and took off the anonymous review block, which I didn't realize was on. Here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think!_**

xXxXx

Dawn swung her backpack listlessly at her side as she strolled casually through the cemetery toward Spike's—_Clem's_—crypt. It had been almost two weeks since she had last stopped by after school—to see Clem, of course, not for any other reason. She liked Clem; he was a big goofball, and goofy demons were fun to hang out with. Much more so than cocky, too-cool-to-live ones who walk around like they own the world and everyone in it with their bleached hair and billowy leather coats. That kind of demon she was quite happy to live without, thank you very much.

She didn't bother to knock when she reached the crypt, just walked in and squinted into the dimness. "Clem? You here?" she called. No answer. Oh well, she could wait for him. She wasn't in a hurry to get home today anyway. Buffy had the night off from the Doublemeat and was insisting that they do something "fun" together. Dawn didn't know what she had in mind, but you could bet that their definitions of "fun" were worlds apart. Digging into her coat pocket, she pulled out a battered pack of cigarettes, shook one out, and lit it carefully with a pink plastic lighter. She sucked in some smoke but blew it out without inhaling. Inhaling was gross. This way she could look cool and not get black lungs and die young. And not cough, either, because that was a dead giveaway that you were new at the practice.

She wandered over to the crappy little TV, clicked it on, and started to adjust the antenna for reception.

"Big sis know you've taken up smoking?"

Dawn screamed and spun around, stumbling back against the TV stand and almost knocking the whole thing over before catching her balance. Her mouth fell open in shock at the sight of him standing there, just feet away from her, complete with familiar smirk and amused eyebrow tilt, as if he hadn't disappeared for over a month.

"Hello, Bit."

Words wouldn't come. She took a reflexive step forward to throw her arms around him, and then caught herself and took a bigger, more deliberate step back when she remembered that she hated him now. The barely smoked cigarette fell from her fingers and hit the cement floor. Keeping his eyes on her, he bent down to pick it up, and took a long drag.

"Good choice," he muttered as he released the cloud of smoke. "My brand."

"You're back." It came out as a question, though she wasn't sure she had intended it that way.

"I'm back, love."

Dawn stared at him for a few more moments, letting the reality of his presence sink in. When she spoke at last, her voice sounded weak and childish, pitiful in her own ears. "I gave up on you."

"You did, did you?" he asked, agreeably enough. "So, ah, tell me something, Dawn. What are you doing here?"

"If you're implying …" She trailed off uncertainly. "I'm here to see Clem."

"Just me here now. Clem's set up camp someplace else by now, I figure."

"Does Buffy know you're back?"

"Not as far as I know. I've stayed pretty well off the radar. But I knew you'd come round here before long."

"How long have—? I mean, have you been—?"

He smiled a little at the rare sight of the bit fumbling for words. "Couple of weeks, give or take."

"You weren't going to tell us."

"Some things I needed to get straight in my mind first. You turned up sooner than I expected."

Dawn's eyes hardened. "Well, that's not a problem, because I'm leaving."

"I'd rather you stay, have ourselves a little chat."

"I don't give a rat's ass what you'd _rather_."

Spike chuckled, much to Dawn's irritation. "There's my bit."

"I'm not your bit," she snapped. "I'm not your _anything_."

"Come on, Dawn, let's have it out. I'm betting you've got some real gems stored up to hurl at me, so have at it. Take your best shot."

Her blue eyes were shimmering now, but she refused to let him see her cry. Not this time. Instead, she concentrated on making her voice steady.

"You said you'd never hurt me."

Spike's amused expression disappeared as if he'd been slapped. Stricken, he reached for the girl. She dodged out of reach and then fled from the crypt without looking back. Spike stared at the space she had occupied moments before. "Not bad," he muttered.

xXxXx

Dawn realized halfway home that she'd left her backpack at Spike's. _Damn-damn-damn_. She'd rather flunk out of school completely than go back for it.

He wanted to make amends, that was obvious. But she wouldn't make it easy for him. If she were ever to let him back into her life, which was unlikely, he had some _serious_ ass-kissing ahead of him. Now she just had to decide whether or not to share the news with Buffy. Part of her wanted to burst through the front door and yell "Spike's back!" at the top of her lungs.

On the other hand, a deeper, darker part of her argued, Buffy didn't really need to know just yet, did she? She'd just screw things up again, more likely than not. This way it could be like having him to herself again, the way it was before he'd brushed Dawn aside in his quest to win her no-longer-dead sister's heart. _Could_ be—if she chose to forgive him. She still hated him, of course. Completely.

She hadn't yet decided what to do when she arrived home. Buffy, Xander, and Willow were hanging out in the living room, and for a change everyone looked relatively happy and peaceful—an anomaly these days in Sunnydale, at least among this group. _No need to disturb that,_ Dawn told herself, bolstering the argument for discretion. She pasted a smile on her face and greeted them brightly. They all looked taken aback by her chipper mood, a glaring contrast to the ticking timebomb of rage she'd been for a month or so.

"Hi Dawnie."

"What's up, Dawnster?"

"How was school?" Buffy asked.

"Great! Not bad," she amended when the first response came out a bit too enthusiastically. "What's on the agenda tonight, Buff?"

Buffy frowned skeptically. "Wait a minute. Didn't you tell me last night that you were going to report me to your child welfare caseworker for forcing you to do lame things like spending quality time with your loser big sister?"

Dawn smiled. "Oh, lighten up, Buffy. Can't you take a joke? Movies and pizza maybe?"

Buffy's frown deepened. "Dawnie, come here a sec."

"What for?"

"Just come here."

Dawn shrugged and took a few steps into the room. "I'm here. What?"

Buffy studied her carefully for a few moments as Dawn rolled her eyes impatiently. "Why do you smell like Spike?"

Dawn's heart froze. "Huh?"

"You. Smell. Like. Spike. Want to tell me why?"

Wide-eyed, Dawn glanced from Willow to Xander, hoping one of them would help her out. "Buffy, you're losing it."

"Actually, you kind of do, Dawnie," Willow offered, wincing a little as Dawn shot her a glare. "I mean, not that I spent a lot of time sniffing Spike or anything…"

"You've been smoking!" Buffy exclaimed.

Oh, the smoke. Of course. Dawn tried not to let her relieved smile break through. "Oh, that. Janice smokes. She gave me a ride home," she lied easily, shrugging it off.

"I don't like that girl."

"I know. _Everyone_ knows."

"And for the record, if I ever catch you smoking you're going to find out what it feels like to be a vamp who gets in my way when I'm having a bad night."

"Duly noted." Dawn smiled once more for good measure and ran upstairs, leaving the others to ponder her somehow ominous cheerfulness.

"Maybe she's on drugs."

"Thanks a lot, Xander. That's helpful," Buffy said.

"Well I don't know. It's weird. She's barely managed a civil word to any of us for the last six weeks, and suddenly she comes in all smiles and lighthearted ribbing? I say we search her room for the dope. Who's with me?"

"There's only one dope here," Willow said. "Maybe she had some kind of epiphany and finally realized that none of us is to blame for Spike skipping town. Let's not look a happy Dawn in the mouth."

xXxXx

"_You said you'd never hurt me." _

She was right there, wasn't she? He'd told her half a million times the same thing, swearing to protect her, to keep her from all harm, whether in the form of well-dressed hell goddesses or burly, lecherous demons in dank bars—and somewhere in that range must be neutered vampires who loved her and her sister more than life. But he had hurt her, and she hated him for it.

As Buffy was bound to.

The soul blazed in his chest and he knew she'd seeped in there too, as if it wasn't enough to have her in every drop of blood in his body, in his heart, in his every waking thought. As if he hadn't been hers absolutely before getting the soul; the bloody thing had doubled, tripled his need for her. If there had ever been hope of moving on from Sunnydale and putting the Slayer and her bright-eyed kid sister behind him, it had evaporated the moment the trials were over and he was restored.

He wanted to see her more than anything in the world, but he couldn't quite face her yet, or the potential for rejection that loomed so huge and hellish before him. If he knew Niblet (and he did, because she was almost too much like him), Buffy wouldn't know that he was back in town. Dawn would want to keep him as her very own dark little secret, at least for a while. But there were still ways to see her, if he was careful.

Buffy's face flashed before him, a fleeting glimpse of her hair and her scent and the strength that emanated from her eyes. He opened a bottle, and waited for the sun to set.


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry this chapter took a while longer than the others; I hope you'll stick with me. I've been busy lately but have not forgotten this story. Thanks a million for reading and reviewing.**

Some dialogue excerpts in this chapter were borrowed from _Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, _Episode 103, "Afterlife."

xXxXx

Standing by the old oak tree in the Summers' front yard brought back the weeks preceding and following Buffy's death in glaring, painful technicolor. Before, he'd stood endless hours in this spot waiting for a glimpse of the woman who haunted his dreams, the one who still considered him an enemy, albeit a harmless one, rendered so by her bloody boyfriend and the other Initiative wankers. Before, he'd been lucky to pass a few quick-witted words with her on the rare, longed-for occasion that she happened to take notice of him on her way home from patroling. And if their sparring resulted in a bloody nose or lip when she'd had her fill of his merciless schoolboy-with-a-crush teasing, then all the better. He'd have something to remember the encounter by the next day, and perhaps the next, until she graced him with her presence again. _Before._

And he'd stood here after—after, when he couldn't bring himself to go inside because he couldn't bear the sight of the Scoobies and their hollow-eyed grieving faces. But he had no choice, he had to be there as long as _she_ was there, his inherited burden, barricaded upstairs in her own little cave of denial but slammed with reality every time she emerged from the lavender-walled haven and faced the overwrought concern of her surrogate caretakers. He would chain smoke and watch her window, and every now and then a gaping, dark slit would appear in the blinds as she checked to make sure he was still there. Only when satisfied that he was, and knowing full well that he wouldn't budge until dangerously close to daybreak, would she climb into bed and allow herself the luxury of sleep. _After._

And then.

_You didn't tell me. You brought her back and you didn't tell me! … Willow knew there was a chance that she'd come back wrong. So wrong that you'd have—that she would have to get rid of what came back. And I wouldn't _let_ her. If _any_ part of that was Buffy, I wouldn't let her. _

_Look me in the eyes and tell me when you saw Buffy alive, that wasn't the happiest moment of your entire existence._

Not wrong there, was he? Not exactly.

The tree hadn't changed. Spike didn't know why he thought it should have. It hadn't even been that long, it only _felt_ like a lifetime. He leaned against its familiar roughness and lit a cigarette and ignored grief's incessant echo as he watched the flickering bluish light play behind the living room windows. God, he wanted to see her so badly it hurt. But what would she say? Would she hate him like the bit did now? Would she tell him it was all for nothing, the trials and the pain and the quest for redemption? Angel was all about redemption, and what had it gotten him? Separated from her is all. Spike didn't think he could bear that rejection, not again, not now that he'd become the man he thought she wanted and had pinned every hope he'd ever allowed himself to the possibility of being hers, for real this time.

But he had to know, didn't he. Better to face his demons head-on, to hell with the pun. And if nothing else, he could see her face and ease the aching need he'd been nursing since his arrival back in this godforsaken town. He dropped his cigarette and started slowly toward the door.

xXxXx

Buffy was snoring on one end of the couch. The second movie they'd rented—just as bad as the first—droned on and on, bathing the darkened living room in a patchy blue glow. Dawn patted back a yawn as she studied her sister's face and wondered what her odds were of making it out of the house without waking her up. Probably pretty decent. Buffy had been an incredibly deep sleeper since her return. Being dead must teach you how to _really_ tune out.

Dawn was thinking of going back to Spike's, not because she wanted to see him, of course, but because he had her backpack and she needed it. Who could argue with that? If Spike caused her to flunk her history test on Monday because he was holding her school books hostage, there would be hell to pay. Buffy was weird about grades lately, keeping uncanny account of what tests were when and how Dawn was doing on them. And if she failed a test and had to sit through another of Willow's tutoring sessions, Dawn thought she just might start doing her own brand of dark magic to save herself that indescribably boring fate.

Slipping silently off the couch, she went to the front door, grabbed her jacket from off the floor where she'd let it fall earlier, and glanced back at her sister. Still snoozing peacefully (if loudly). Dawn opened the door, froze when it creaked a little, and then slipped out into the chilly night, closing it as softly as possible behind her. Once safely on the other side, she put her jacket on and turned around. She had to stifle a scream when she came face to face with Spike. He was standing at the bottom of the porch steps, hands in the pockets of his coat, giving her the Head-Tilt of Curiosity.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded defensively, then glanced nervously over her shoulder and lowered her voice. "You're not welcome here. We deinvited you."

Spike nodded. "Thought you might," he said. He reached down and picked up something at his feet, holding it out to her. "Left this at my place," he said.

Dawn stared at her backpack dangling from his fingers. "I'm surprised you bothered to bring it back," she said. "Evil dead things don't usually think much about propriety, do they?"

His expression remained fixed and neutral, and finally she reached out and snatched the bag from his hand. "Thanks," she muttered. "Now you can go."

"You didn't tell her, did you?"

Dawn rolled her eyes and tried to sound huffy and bored. "Tell who what?" She studied his impassive face for a moment before dropping the front. "No, I didn't. You hurt her enough when you took off like you did. She doesn't need to know you came back and didn't even care enough to come to her in person."

"That's why you didn't tell her, then?"

"Yes."

"Ah, Niblet, you forget how well we know each other."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm supposed to believe you kept Big Sis in the dark for her own good, because that's just the kind of selfless person you are? Come on."

"I don't really give a shit what you think."

Spike's eyes flashed irritably, but he refrained from snapping at her. "Granted. But I think you know you can't fool the big bad. Now tell me, is she out, or are you sneaking out under her nose these days?"

"What's it to you?"

"Dawn…"

"You don't seriously think she's going to be happy to see you…? She won't. She hates you just as much as I do now. That tends to happen when you abandon people and don't even bother to say goodbye."

"Well, much as you like playing the messenger, I think I'll let her tell me herself." He started to step around Dawn and toward the front door, but she grabbed his arm and tugged him back.

"Don't!"

Spike sighed heavily. "This is getting old, pet," he said, the warning plain in his voice.

"Okay, fine, I'm sorry. Just listen to me—I don't think she's ready yet."

"How about we let Buffy decide that. She's a big girl. Likes to speak for herself; she's funny that way."

"No!" Dawn protested more urgently, and Spike noticed for the first time that she had tears in her eyes. He stopped and frowned at her, waiting for her to explain herself. "Spike, I know what's going to happen. She's going to tell you to get lost, and you will. You'll leave again, probably for good this time, and that's it for you two. And that's it for us, the three of us, and any chance we had at being a family. You've got to let me talk to her first. I can soften her up, make her see that you didn't mean to hurt us. But you showing up like this, in the middle of the night, and telling her you've been back for two weeks already and didn't want to see her … it will be a disaster."

Taken aback, Spike watched as tears slid down Dawn's cheeks and dripped off her chin and her big earnest blue eyes bored into him. At last he drew her into his arms and hugged her tightly, not knowing quite what to say when she was probably right.

"I still hate you," she said, her words muffled against the folds of his coat. He smiled in spite of himself, and dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head.

"I'll learn to live with that."

When Dawn pulled out of his embrace at last, she looked at him almost fearfully. "What are you gonna do?"

He sighed. "You make a good argument, Bit, and I get that you're worried. But I've got to do this my way. And my way is now or never."

"But Spike—"

He stopped her with a look. "Now or never," he repeated firmly. "But you don't have to worry about me leaving you again, that much I can promise."

Pouting slightly, Dawn pulled away from him. "I bought that the first time."

As he turned and walked up to the front door, Dawn began backing away. "I'm not sticking around for this."

"Dawn, stay," Spike commanded automatically without turning around. "Or go up to your room if you don't care to see your sister kill me. You've no business wandering the streets at this hour." He faced the door and tried to scrounge up enough courage to knock on it.

"Spike, don't! I'm telling you…"

As he raised his knuckle to the solid wood before him, it swung back without warning. There stood Buffy, sleep lines creasing one side of her face, random strands of blonde hair escaping her messy ponytail, warring expressions of shock and anger and concern and (_could it be?_) relief fighting for control of her features, as lovely a being as Spike had ever laid eyes on.

Behind them, unwilling to watch her world shatter, Dawn silently escaped into the night.

xXxXx


	12. Chapter 12

**_Here it is, finally! There is probably one chapter left after this one, to tie up the loose ends. Please let me know your thoughts. Thank you so much for the reviews; they are deeply appreciated, and they definitely keep me motivated to keep writing._**

xXxXx

It was the muffled sound of voices that roused her from her tangled dream of graveyards and pointing fingers, of scrubbing dried blood from her clothes as Spike's magic fingers explored her body, of forcing down a Doublemeat Medley with one hand as she fended off a vampire attack with the other. She sat up on the couch and squinted blearily at the TV screen, still stubbornly showing that awful movie she and Dawn had inexplicably chosen from the rental place, probably because it was mindless and simple and linear, as their lives never seemed to be, and … Dawn. She was talking to someone outside. Buffy could hear her sister's voice but not her words, the tone high-pitched and pleading … and then there was an answering voice, deep, smoke-roughened, with an unmistakable cadence that brought her heart into her throat where it began to pound madly. Was she still dreaming?

Buffy edged over to the door as if in a stupor and pressed her forehead against the cool wood, straining to hear what was going on beyond it. She couldn't quite bring herself to glance through one of the three small windows that would have given her a clear, immediate answer. It must be one of Dawn's friends, maybe that Michael guy she'd been chattering about nonstop—that is, before Spike left and her energies shifted to spouting vicious accusations at everyone she deemed responsible. That's it, Dawn must be out there talking to Michael.

"…_and didn't want to see her … it will be a disaster." _

There was a long silence from the other side of the door, and Buffy wondered vaguely if they could hear her heartbeat. It certainly sounded loud enough in her own ears. What was going on? Why did Dawnie sound like she was crying?

"_I still hate you."_ Muffled, choked, barely audible.

"_I'll learn to live with that." _

And there it was. Buffy's breath caught in her throat, and she resisted the urge to throw the door open and fling herself into his arms—or punch him in the face. It was him. _Him._ He'd come back to them. More words were exchanged outside, but she ignored them as she wrestled with the confused mass of emotions that fought for control of her. She had to play it cool. That was all she had left; otherwise she would be at his mercy, and even now, knowing that she loved him and understanding the ripple-effect of that newfound knowledge, she wouldn't allow herself to give him everything. Couldn't. Not when he had the power to crush her with a word.

"_Spike, don't! I'm telling you …" _

Buffy's hand acted without permission from her brain. The door flung back and she stood before him, watching as the gorgeous blue eyes registered first surprise, then pleasure, then a healthy dose of anxiety. She watched him reach for words and come up with nothing, that fact itself an anomaly.

"Buffy…"

Again with the unruly hand. She didn't even realize she'd hit him until he reached up to check the damage to his lip, one side of his mouth curling in that old self-satisfied smirk, and he was about to say something that would ruin everything, maybe, open old wounds and pour salt in, when she grabbed him by the front of his coat, pulled him to her, and buried his smart-ass remark in a violent kiss.

His arms instantly went around her as he let himself revel in her taste, the tickle of her hair against his face, the warmth of her dainty but immeasurably powerful body. He didn't ever want to let go, but when his hand traveled down to the waistband of her jeans and began to slip beneath the fabric, she pulled back with a soft moan that let him know she didn't want to stop any more than he did. A spot of blood—his, from the sucker punch—glinted bright red at the corner of her mouth.

They regarded one another carefully for several moments. Buffy spoke first, slightly breathless from the kiss. "I didn't mean to hit you," she said, then hastened to add, "I'm not sorry I did it. You deserved it. I just didn't mean to."

He smiled wryly and touched his tongue to the split lip. "Caught me off my guard, Slayer," he said. "I used to be better at blocking you."

"I used to be better at … hating you."

His eyes met hers searchingly. "Do you?" he asked. "The bit does. S'pose I've earned that."

"Dawn doesn't hate you, you idiot. Dawn worships you. It just about killed her when you said those hurtful things to her, when you left."

"Just her?"

Buffy's eyes hardened. "Is that why you did it? To hurt me? Because if that's it, and you only threw my sister into the crossfire to get at me, that bloody lip is about to become the least of your problems."

"You didn't answer my question."

"You didn't answer mine."

"I didn't leave because I wanted to hurt you, Buffy. I mean, I _did_ want that—right or wrong, I can't deny it. A man can only have his heart ripped out and handed to him in pieces so many times before gets tired enough of it to strike back. But that's not why I left. You want an explanation, I'll give you one. It might not make a damn bit of difference in the way you're feeling now, but it's all I've got. Can you withhold your judgment for a bit?"

In response, she stepped back and waited for him to come inside. He hung back, an odd, uncertain expression on his face. "What?" she prodded.

He nodded toward the door. "Niblet said—she said you'd done another spell."

"She told you we uninvited you?" Buffy asked, frowning.

Spike raised an eyebrow questioningly, then tentatively stepped forward, half expecting to slam face-first into an invisible wall. He didn't. He found himself standing in the Summers' foyer, a rush of gratitude making him want to grab her around the waist and help himself to another kiss. They hadn't shut him out.

Buffy was having none of that, though. All business she was, as she snapped off the droning television and sat down on the couch, looking up at him expectantly. He felt suddenly foolish, ashamed for some unfathomable reason, of the news he had to share.

"Buffy … I don't know how to … this isn't …" Faltering, he raised his eyes to hers hopefully, as if pleading for some kind of lifeline. He was suddenly sure that he'd made a horrible mistake, an unforgivable error in judgment. It was too much, this revelation. It would scare her off, make her run away when she glimpsed the bottomless well of his devotion. She gazed back at him impassively, the only hint of emotion in the way her hands fidgeted restlessly in her lap—a nervous habit most unlike her.

"You deserve better than a monster," he said at last. The intensity of his statement took her by surprise, and she flinched slightly at the harsh tone he used. "You told me, in the cemetery, the night I left, that I'm not one anymore. That's not true, Buffy. The things I've done—the things I still craved, the blood and the violence, even after giving you everything I had to give—they're etched into me, too deep. You thought I was tamed. You thought a chip in my head was enough to kill the monster and redeem the man. But you were wrong."

"Spike, stop with the self-flagellation. I've heard this song before, and I'm still not buying it. A monster isn't capable of love. You love me, don't you? You love Dawn. Are you trying to tell me you'd hurt us if that chip came out?"

"Never dream of it, love," he said, cringing away from the very implication. "Never you, never her. But that means bugger-all in the grand scheme."

"It does to me."

He gave a short bark of laugher, humorless and harsh. "Does it? You find comfort in that, do you? In the fact that I wouldn't harm a hair on the Niblet's head, but if given half a chance I might drain every drop from some other unfortunate girl her age who happened across my path one night? Does that really make a difference to you?"

"You _wouldn't_!"

"_I would!_ … I would've."

They glared fire at one another across the living room. And slowly, slowly, something began to dawn in Buffy's mind, some weak suspicion that grew stronger and stronger as she stared him down, as his fierce demeanor began to dissolve into something akin to desperation.

"What did you do?" she whispered.

He closed his eyes and sank down onto the chair across from her. "You deserve better than a monster," he repeated.

"Spike…?"

"Hurts a hell of a lot more than the bloody chip, I'll have you know," he said, in a vain attempt to regain some of his trademark dry wit.

Buffy went to him, shakily, and knelt before his chair, taking his hands in hers and squeezing them. "Tell me," she said. "Tell me what you're talking about."

He cocked an eyebrow at her dubiously. "I think you already know, love."

Her voice was choked, husky. "I want to hear it from you."

"My soul," he said, afraid now to meet her eyes and see the disdain that was sure to be lurking there. "I went to this place in Africa, this demon I'd heard about, wicked powerful, and…" he squeezed his eyes shut briefly. "I got it back."

Her silence confirmed his fears. Now he would lose her, for good this time. Grabbing blindly for a defense mechanism to shield himself from her imminent rejection of everything he could possibly offer, he got up and began to pace the living room, still not looking at her. "Bloody stupid of me, it was. All these years poking fun at your soulboy, and what do I do but follow in his poncey footsteps. And me without even a curse to blame. Me, opening my arms wide and welcoming the torment of my own bloody accord. Shameful waste of perfectly good evil if you ask me. As if it would make you see me as worthy of your company, someone you can fit into your life and not hide away in the shadows. As if it would make a difference. As if it would be the key to your heart, or—"

"It's not."

He froze mid-stride, his head jerking up and his gaze locking onto hers in a moment of purest agony. _The trials were child's play compared to this. _

"Spike, listen to me. There is no key, all right? Well, Dawn … but that was last year." Her lips quirked in a near-smile, but he continued to stare at her with those intense blue eyes of his, so she went on. "There's no key to my heart, there's no spell or curse or grand gesture that could make me love you … or anyone else, for that matter. My heart's not for sale. I give my love freely, when I give it, no strings attached. It's pure, it's real. Sometimes I think it's all I've got left that is."

He opened his mouth to argue or condemn or comfort, he wasn't sure which, but she stopped him with a single raised finger.

"I thought if I allowed myself to love you, a man without a soul, then I was giving in to that darkness inside me that you've spent so much time and effort forcing me to recognize. It was okay as long as it was just about sex, or comfort, or even some passive-aggressive way to get back at my friends. I used you, and we both know it."

Spike nodded, flashing back to (_Tell me you love me. There's nothing good or clean in you! Tell me you want me._ _I could _never_ be your girl!_) certain encounters that confirmed her words.

"But somewhere along the way, I realized something that scared me to death." She took a deep, shuddery breath, then crossed the room and stood right in front of him, looking up at him earnestly, mirroring his own fear. "I love you."

A beating heart would have stopped.

"I loved you before you left, I just didn't know how to admit it to myself or anyone else." She paused. "And now you're just staring at me and not talking, so I'm going to keep going until you decide to weigh in here … the fact that you left vowing to kill me next time we met, and instead came back with this news, it's just … Spike, that's the most incredible—" she broke off, biting her lip. "And I'm probably too late telling you how I feel, I've waited too long and been cruel too many times, and I don't know what you went through for this, but I probably wouldn't even want to imagine. I mean, Spike … your _soul_."

He touched the corner of her eye with his thumb, wiping away a tear that had formed there before it could fall.

"Say it again," he ordered gruffly.

He needed to watch her eyes when she said it, to witness the flicker of shame that would cloud them briefly or to catch her almost-imperceptible glance at the floor that would disprove the words even as she spoke them.

Buffy locked her eyes on his unflinchingly. "I love you, Spike."

There wasn't even a moment's hesitation.

xXxXx

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

"Do you want some more tea?"

Dawn looked down into the teacup she clutched in her hand, still half-full of now-cold pungent brown liquid, and had to stop herself from wrinkling her nose at the prospect of choking down more for the sake of politeness. She'd never been a big fan of tea, that was Giles' thing, and Tara's herbal stuff was especially gross.

"No thanks," she said, then added hopefully, "I'll take something a little harder, though, if you've got it."

Tara's mouth twitched in a little half-smile. "Sorry, sweetie."

Dawn didn't know if that was a "Sorry, I don't have any booze" or a "Sorry, I have a cabinet full of booze but I'm not going to give it to _you_, an emotionally unbalanced minor." Didn't really matter anyway. Tea wasn't going to make Dawn feel any better, and alcohol probably wouldn't either.

Tara watched Dawn's face intently for a few moments, seeming to read the younger girl's thoughts. Then she went in for another try. "Listen, Dawn, I really think you should …"

"No."

"Dawnie …"

"No."

Tara nodded. "Well. Okay. But you know that means that I have to."

Dawn's head shot up and she fixed wide, betrayed blue eyes on Tara. "You can't!"

"It is so late, sweetie. We have to let Buffy know that you're safe. She must be worried sick about you."

"I don't care. I hate her for what she's doing."

Tara cleared her throat softly, tried again to reason. "But Dawn, you don't _know_ what she's doing. You said you ran away when Buffy opened the door. For all you know she might have welcomed him with open arms. Don't you think you should get all your facts straight before you put so much energy into being angry?"

"Do _you_ think she welcomed him with open arms?" Dawn asked bitterly. "'Cause if so, you don't know my sister."

"I wouldn't presume to know anyone's heart, Dawnie; especially not your sister's. She's a very complex person."

Dawn sighed. "I thought you'd understand," she said in a small voice.

Tara moved over to sit next to Dawn on the couch, putting her arms around her. Dawn let herself be held, resting her head on Tara's shoulder. "Oh, I understand a few things. I understand that you're upset." She paused delicately. "I understand that you're afraid of losing Spike again."

"I don't care about Spike," Dawn said instantly.

Tara smiled, her lips pressing against Dawn's hair. "Yeah. Of course you don't."

"Are you laughing at me?"

"Maybe just a little."

xXxXx

It was like the most glorious sort of déjà vu, lying in bed with her, limbs tangled together in the sleepy buzzing bliss of after. And then less glorious and more familiar, as a bit of unsavory history actually began to replay itself—a sharp intake of breath from Buffy, eyes that were half-lidded in contentment open wide with sudden alarm.

"Dawn!"

He frowned, about to make a crack about the inappropriateness of her thinking of the bit at a time like this, when the urgency sliced through his Buffy-drunk stupor like a splash of icy water to the face. "Right." He disentangled himself from her, and they both stood and began retrieving haphazardly shed articles of clothing from the floor around the bed.

"I'm going to kill her if she doesn't stop doing this. I might kill her anyway, just because she's making me leave this room right now," Buffy grumbled as she tugged on her wrinkled jeans. "I mean, how irresponsible can she be? We've _told_ her—"

"Easy, love. Bit's been through a lot."

Buffy looked at him incredulously through tousled strands of blonde. "Is that the soul talking, Spike, or have you just gone soft? I can't remember a time that I wanted to beat Dawn silly and you weren't on board."

"Oh, don't you worry. I plan to wring her moronic little neck if I find her before you do. I'm just saying. This time she was acting on pure emotion. She's not just out looking for a good time and trying to declare her bloody independence; she's upset and hurt, and ..." he swallowed, irritated at having to say these words and sound like such an utter ponce. "And, well, it's my fault, yeah? She's run off because of me, and I owe her one. So I'm going to find her and I'm going to bring her home and I'm probably going to grant her a reprieve for being such a stupid git because I'm still on thin ice with her."

"If she didn't have you in her pocket before, she does now," Buffy remarked. "You're such a pushover." She stood up, fully dressed, and went over to slip her arms around him. She stroked his bare, muscular back, the soft touch sending delicious shivers down his spine and making him want to throw her onto the bed and take her one more time for good measure. But first things first. With a great effort, he pulled away from her to finish dressing.

"All right, let's do this," Buffy said, not bothering to keep the note of pure exasperation from her tone. "I'll call Xander first and see if—"

She was interrupted by the phone. Spike waited while Buffy answered, mentally filling in the gaps of the one-sided conversation.

"Hi, Tara. She is? Yeah, we were just about to … but she's okay, though, right? Tell her to stay put; I'm on my way. What? No, absolutely not. Tell her she may _not_ spend the night there. Because I want her home. Oh, that's funny—she thinks she has a choice? Whoa, wait a second, _what_ was that? Oh-ho-ho, she did _not_ just call me a—Tara, please put my sister on the phone. Okay, then, tell her I _heard that_, and she's just tacked on another ten years to the consecutive life sentences she's already looking at. Well. Then just tell her I'm on my way to pick her up and she'd better _be there_ when I get there. Do a spell, tie her up, whatever it takes. Thanks, Tara."

Buffy let out a frustrated "_Argh_" as she hung up the phone. Spike bit back a smirk, not wanting to turn the Slayer's anger in his direction. "I take it the platelet's not feeling quite cooperative at the moment."

Fuming, Buffy turned sharp green eyes on him. "She called me a bitch! Can you freaking _believe_ that? My little Key of a sister called me a bitch. I heard her in the background. And _oh_, if she thinks there's not going to be hell to pay now…" She looked up at him earnestly, pouting in a way that he found irresistibly endearing. "I am _not_ a bitch, Spike. It's a common misconception."

"I know, pet." He placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her toward him, bending down until their foreheads were touching. Looking up into his eyes had a calming effect, like gazing into tranquil pools of cool blue water. "You stay here. I'll go," he said. "I'll go get her and fill her in on what she missed—well, minus a few key details, mind—and by the time I get her home she'll be falling at your feet to beg forgiveness for being such an insufferable little brat."

Buffy sniffed. "Not bloody likely," she said. "But have at it. I'm not sure we'd make it home without bloodshed if I went."

Spike tilted her face up to his and kissed her firmly, resisting the urge to let his hands greedily wander over her soft flesh because they'd just end up naked again, and he really needed to go get Niblet and try to mend her tattered feelings before she actually hurt someone with that patented Dawn-whine of hers. Stupid presumptuous little twit she was.

But the thought came with a stab of affection.

xXxXx

Tara looked mildly surprised to see him on her doorstep when she opened the door, but she stepped back graciously and said, "Come in, Spike," without his having to remind her that he needed an invitation, so that was all right. He could abide Glinda here better than the rest of them, Red with her wide eyes and ominously blooming ego, Harris with his snide comments and overprotectiveness of _Spike's_ girls—an intrusion Spike resented more than he was willing to admit, lest anyone think bloody _Xander_ of all people was capable of getting under his skin.

He offered Tara a fleeting almost-smile and stepped into her apartment, which smelled predictably of incense and tea and soft, girly things.

"Dawnie," she called. "Come back out here now. It's okay." Glancing at Spike shyly through her long lashes, Tara added softly, "She's pretty upset with Buffy. I had to practically physically restrain her to keep her here after the phone call. She thinks…" She cleared her throat, wanting to proceed carefully, without breaching any of Dawnie's confidences. "She's scared of getting hurt again. I think it's just easier for her to pretend she's angry instead."

Spike shrugged. "'Course she's scared. Probably thinks big sis beat me bloody and then planted a tree in my chest. Well, that's one thing we can clear up now." He raised his voice. "Oi, Bite-size! Front and center."

A moment later she appeared in the darkened hallway, hovering there and eyeing Spike with open suspicion. "What are you doing here? Where's Buffy?"

"Trust me, you stand a greater chance of making it home in one piece with Big Bad than Pissed-off Slayer. You can thank me later. Let's go."

Dawn drew back deeper into the shadows. "I'm not going with you," she said.

He rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "And _I'm_ not askin'. Move your scrawny ass, little girl."

"You can't tell me what to do. Not anymore."

"That so?"

"Yes," she said defiantly. "You lost all say in my life when you left."

Spike looked suddenly weary, almost as old as his years. Tara had managed to slip out of the room so softly that even Spike, with his heightened vampire senses, didn't notice until he glanced around and saw that she was no longer standing behind him.

After a moment to collect himself and rein in his frustration he addressed Dawn again. "I thought we'd moved past this. What, now you're back to hating me?"

"I never stopped."

"Don't you even want to know what happened?"

"No. I don't care. Buffy didn't dust you, I can see that. And I guess you didn't kill her because she was her usual bitchy self on the phone earlier. Anything else, I don't need to know."

"Don't talk about her that way," he scolded automatically. At Dawn's eyeroll, he felt a bright spark of irritation. "You. Sit down. We're going to have ourselves a chat, you and me."

"I told you, I don't want to hear the gory details of your breakup, and how you're leaving town because _that's what you do_, and how Buffy's going to keep working at the freaking Doublecrap Palace and being miserable and hating her life because that's what _she_ does, and all because you're both too damn stupid to recognize this amazing thing you could have together if you'd just stop being assholes and _take it_." She paused to take a breath, and Spike studied her thoughtfully, eyebrow raised. She felt his eyes on her but refused to meet his gaze.

"Well you're a smart one, aren't you?" he finally said gruffly. "But only about half as smart as you think." He pointed at her, then the couch. "_Sit_."

She heaved a great, put-upon sigh and sank down on the soft cushions, glaring up at him. He seemed much taller than he was, sometimes. Usually when he was mad. He looked mad now, with set jaw and blazing eyes, which is why his next words took her off-guard.

"You're right."

Startled, she forgot to hang onto her sulky expression, and it immediately dissolved into one of uncertainty.

"So—so you _are_ leaving." Her voice came out very small.

He knelt down in front of her and took her hands into his strong, cool ones. "No."

"No?"

"That's not what you're right about, Sweet Bit. Just shut your bloody mouth and _listen_ for a change." She had a smart comeback on the tip of her tongue, but the earnestness in his eyes made her hold it in. She sat still, and she listened as he filled her in on his and Buffy's erstwhile reconciliation. When he was finished, there was silence as his words slowly seeped in. She stared at him in awe, one word soaring above the mass of emotions swirling around inside her. A _soul_.

"Are you—different?" Dawn asked when she trusted her voice enough to form words. "I mean. Are you _good_, now?"

The thick tension lifted some when he smiled, a real smile, one of the rare, beautiful ones. "Bite your tongue, Bit." A pause, then, "Do you want me to be? Good?"

Her already wide eyes went wider, rounder. "No," she said instantly. "No! I want you to be Spike."

He felt a measure of relief at that, and he took her face between his hands and planted a firm kiss in the middle of her forehead.

"But you and Buffy—? I mean, are you really—? Is it for real this time?"

"Best as I can tell, yeah," he said.

She shook her head. "That's not good enough, Spike. I need to know. Before I believe it, I need to know if this is for real. I can't—not again. It's too hard to watch you guys tear each other apart every day."

He listened and nodded. "I can't make you any promises on your sister's behalf, Niblet. You know that. But I can tell you that _I_ believe it. Never did before. 'S different, this time."

Dawn pondered that for a few moments. "Okay," she said. "Okay, I can accept that." Something struck her then, and she grasped his hand as he stood up. He looked back down at her questioningly. "It wasn't the soul," she blurted out abruptly.

He cocked an eyebrow and said nothing.

"She loved you before. While you were gone. Before you left. She loved you. _Soulless_ you. You should know that."

"Guess maybe I do, now," he said. "Come on, let's get you home. Buffy's waiting to mete out some punishment."

"Spike—"

"Don't worry, if you promise to take my side in the next argument Big Sis and I have I'll toss in a good word for you. We'll enter a plea for leniency."

"Spike—" Dawn interrupted. Embarrassed but determined to get it out, she let the words come tumbling in a rush. "I did too. I mean, I—I didn't hate soulless you, either."

"Good to know, Bit," he said, holding out his hand to her. She took it, and they walked out of Tara's apartment together and started home.

xXxXx

**_Okay, I confess. I suck at wrapping up stories, especially long ones like this. I'd like to do one more chapter here since I'm never completely satisfied with my endings. So I hope you'll look for that. Till then, thanks for the reviews and encouragement. It really keeps me motivated and makes me update much more regularly than I would otherwise. (I don't write __for_ feedback, but it's definitely the icing on the cake.) And speaking of … please let me know what you think of this chapter. Much appreciated! (One more thing, a shameless plug. If you did like this story, you'd probably like "Hollow Heroes," which is another one that deals heavily with Spike, Buffy, and Dawn. You can link via my bio.)**


	14. Chapter 14

**_Epilogue, because I just don't know when to quit._**

xXxXx

"How can you eat this stuff? It's not even meat. It's like some weird kind of pseudo meat product." Dawn wrinkled her nose, absorbed in the delicate operation of removing a slice of pepperoni from her pizza without taking off all the cheese with it.

"It is too meat," Buffy said defensively. "It's … pepperoni meat."

Operation complete, Dawn dropped the offending topping into the discarded pile she had accumulated in the corner of the cardboard pizza box. "I don't trust meat that doesn't require refrigeration. Gag."

Buffy frowned across the kitchen counter at her sister. "Don't _gag_ about my dinner, Dawn. It's rude. But while we're on the subject, how can _you_ eat _those _creepy things?"

"Anchovies are vastly underappreciated," Dawn said, popping one into her mouth as if to prove the point.

"Anchovies are an abomination."

"You like Caesar salad. Caesar salad is chock full of them."

Buffy's jaw dropped, a slice of pizza frozen a few inches from her mouth. "That's not true!"

"Yeah, it is. Spike, tell her."

Spike leaned over Buffy's shoulder and snatched up the last slice of the anchovy-and-pepperoni-topped source of debate, smirking at the high-pitched protest of both Summers girls. "Bit's right," he said. "In the dressing. Anchovy paste, or somesuch."

"Spike, for a vampire who has no need for sustenance other than blood, you sure do eat a lot of our food," Dawn noted.

"Hey, I can eat for reasons other than hunger. Blood gets boring, especially the pig's swill I'm on now. Cut me a break."

"Fine. I'm done anyway. Gotta finish getting ready." Dawn stood up and started for the stairs.

"Hold it a sec. Operating procedure?"

Dawn studiously refrained from rolling her eyes as she looked back at her sister. "Buffy, come on…"

"Do you want to go or not?"

"Yesssss." Dawn tapped her foot impatiently on the floor.

"Operating procedure."

With a heavy sigh, Dawn recited, "Straight to the theater, cell phone in my pocket, stake in my purse, call if I get into trouble, _don't_ get into trouble, no drinking, no smoking, no debauchery of any kind, straight home after the movie, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. To bottom line it, no fun."

"You forgot no touching," Spike said.

"No I didn't. That wasn't part of the deal."

"It is now. No touching. Add it to the list."

"Spike, if Michael wants to hold my hand, I'm not going to stop him. If Michael wants to kiss me, I'm open to that too. In fact, if Michael wants to—"

"Does Michael want to die?" he interrupted, eyebrow in don't-mess-with-me position.

"You can't kill him," Dawn said dismissively. "Soul would never let you."

"If he lays a bloody finger on you, pet, the soul will cheer me on as I tear him limb from limb."

"Buf-_fy_…!"

"It's all right, Dawn. Spike won't embarrass you. Well, he might, but I promise he won't actually eat your date. But really, let's keep the 'touching' thing to a bare minimum."

"_Bare?_ What the bleeding hell kind of word is—"

Buffy raised her hands in surrender, suppressing a smile at his typical overreaction. "Sorry, sorry, bad choice of words. Dawnie knows what I mean."

Dawn smiled. "Limit the naked touching. Got it."

"Niblet, I swear on all that is unholy—"

Dawn laughed. "Can I go now? He'll be here soon."

"Yes, go, ignore the crazy vampire," Buffy said. Dawn seized her chance and hurried off to her room.

"How do we know this bloke's not a vampire?" Spike asked, munching sulkily on his slice of pizza. "You Summers girls do seem to attract a certain breed of nonhuman, you know. I'm not sure we should let her go."

Buffy slipped an arm around his waist. "He's fine. She brought him over last week, and he met all the criteria. Cute, check. Sweet, check. Dutifully wary of wicked strong and overprotective big sister, check. Heartbeat, check—I'm almost positive." She slipped her hand teasingly under the fabric of his jeans. "Besides, if we don't let her go, we'll have to contend with a Dawn-tantrum of legendary proportions, instead of finding new and creative ways to enjoy the peace and quiet of an empty house."

Still frowning but obviously intrigued by the prospect, Spike dropped his pizza and drew Buffy forward until her petite body was pressed against him. "You do know how to argue your point," he said huskily, tracing her lips with his thumb.

"What can I say?" she said slyly. "I know how to turn a vampire on."

Spike froze and pulled back slightly, his brows furrowed.

"What?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"I don't like that."

"What?" Buffy repeated, genuinely perplexed as he let go of her and stepped away.

"That implication that there have been others."

"Well … there have. One other. What, this is news to you?"

"I don't like it, Buffy. I don't want to be reminded of him when I'm kissing you."

She rolled her eyes. "Are you seriously going to start this right now?"

"I'm not starting anything. I'm just telling you not to make comments like that."

"Spike, honestly, you are making something out of nothing. I don't know why that should surprise me, since that's what you do. But really. Let's move on and forget about Angel."

Spike threw his hands into the air in a frustrated gesture and stomped over to the liquor cabinet to begin noisily making himself a drink. "That's it."

Buffy laughed in disbelief. "Spike, you are being…"

"You had to say his name!"

"_You_ brought him up!"

"But _you_ said his name. You didn't have to say his bloody name."

"Oh for the love of God. Angel, Angel, Angel!" Buffy shot angrily. Spike's eyes blazed at her, and he slammed the bottle of bourbon down on the counter in front of her with a bang that should have shattered the glass. They glared at one another over the top of it. "If you trusted me it wouldn't bother you!" she said into the tension.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"You're still waiting for something to come between us. You're still waiting for Angel to become an issue. Well listen up, Spike, because I'm sick to death of saying this. It's not going to happen. What I had with Angel is in the past. What I have with you is _not_. It's going to last, damn you, no matter how royally you piss me off on a regular basis. You're infuriating and ridiculously jealous and overbearing a good deal of the time, but _I love you._ How long is it going to take to prove it?"

Into the silence, Dawn came bounding back downstairs. "Okay, someone's going to call the cops if you guys don't chill out. What could possibly have happened in the two minutes I was gone?"

Still locked in a death glare with one another, neither of them spared her a glance.

"Well, okay, since nobody's feeling chatty, just promise me you won't kill each other while I'm gone. Because I don't know about you guys, but I'm really tired of drama."

The sound of the doorbell broke the spell, and Dawn suddenly looked panicked. "Oh crap, he's here! Do I look okay? Is this skirt stupid? It's stupid, I shouldn't have worn a skirt. It looks like I'm trying too hard, doesn't it? Buffy, help me!"

Buffy pulled her gaze away from Spike's ice blue eyes and looked at her sister. "You look beautiful, Dawnie, don't change a thing."

"Skirt's too bloody short," Spike offered. "Go put on some jeans or something, Niblet. You don't want this wanker thinking you're—"

"The skirt is _fine_, Dawn," Buffy said firmly as Dawn glanced down at her outfit, panic rapidly dissolving into horror.

"Here, I'll get the door. I should meet the—"

"_No!_" Dawn squeaked, grabbing Spike by the arm to hold him back. "Buffy!" she appealed desperately.

"Spike, stay. Dawn, go on, have a good time. Be back by curfew," Buffy said, and Dawn shot her a look of pure gratitude even as Spike scowled his displeasure.

Dawn took a deep breath to compose herself, waved half-heartedly at her sister and Spike, and left them to whatever emotional mess they were brewing this time.

Another long silence fell over the kitchen when she was gone. "Should have let me meet this little ponce. You're a bit too subtle with your threats of bodily harm, Slayer. I'd've left no room for miscommunication." She didn't respond, and after a few moments, he spoke in a gentler, more humble tone. "I do trust you, Buffy. I don't trust your _ex_. But it's not even about that, really. I'm just not sure how I'm supposed to accept those words when you offer them, because I can't understand how—because I don't trust _me_. I don't trust that I'm worthy of those words, not from you. Not yet."

"Well I do." Her eyes snapped up to his, and he saw that she meant it. "So get used to it."

"It's that simple for you?"

"Yes."

Spike studied her open, honest face, and then nodded. And suddenly his arms were full of Slayer, and whatever his next words might have been died on his lips.

xXxXx

The park at night. Bad things happen at the park at night in Sunnydale. Dawn knew better than to be there at all, but Michael was so sweet, and ubercute, and he'd teased her into stopping there after the movie to hang out for a bit. The stake she'd been instructed to bring (and the cell phone too, for that matter) was safely stowed in her purse—in Michael's car.

And when he kissed her as they sat together on top of one of the shadow-patterned picnic tables, she was so overcome with giddy glee that she didn't notice his lips were perhaps a little too cool, or that his breath on her face—well, wasn't there.

"I really like you, Dawn."

"Really?" She squeezed her eyes shut briefly. Stupid response.

"Sure. Hey, let me ask you something. Your sister … she's pretty tough, huh? I mean, I've heard things. She kind of has a reputation for being … pretty tough."

Suddenly cautious, Dawn pulled back to look at him. "Yeah, she is. Why do you ask?"

"Some people say she's got like superstrength or something."

"That's dumb."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he said. "Just wondering if there was any truth to the rumors."

"Hey, Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you planning on kidnapping me and luring my sister into a trap so you can bring down the Slayer and become some kind of hero of the vampire community? Cause, I gotta tell ya … been there, done that." Even before his eyes flashed amber and his hand darted out to grab for her, Dawn was off and running for the car, her purse, her stake.

The fight would have made Spike and Buffy proud. After they'd finished yelling at her, of course.

xXxXx

The End

**_Reviews—and reviewers—will be cherished for all eternity. Please guys, throw me a bone so I can keep the fires burning on my other stories._**


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